


My Brother the Star

by Kaoru250



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 68,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoru250/pseuds/Kaoru250
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is one of the adult film industry's highest rated actors, and with only one film left on his contract, he is ready to retire from the limelight. But his has never been an easy road and with the end in sight, his strictly separated career and private lives are seemingly headed for ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam is Out

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Castiel's [extra] Friendly Neighbor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/868726) by [BrandiChampane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandiChampane/pseuds/BrandiChampane). 



Dean Winchester sank down slowly into the old couch behind him, hardly noticing the deep give of the cushion as he focused instead on the regret that he hadn’t sat immediately when Sam had suggested. But rather than making his situation better, the room spun worse, so he pushed himself back up, paced the cramped living room with short, agitated steps, and shoved a hand through his hair as he tried desperately to process the news his little brother had so calmly laid on him.  
“Are you sure?” he asked, spinning on his heel to narrow his gaze at Sam, trying to see everything at once. Was the boy drunk? Possibly hung over? Or had he really messed up and downed some of those damn pills Dean had heard were becoming popular with college kids?  
But Sam looked completely normal, even gave the same smart ass little laugh he did when he’d decided Dean had asked a stupid question. “Dean, I’ve been sure since Aaron Dacus and junior high debate club.”  
Well, that sounded like Sam, but still Dean resisted, shaking his head and resuming his pacing. After several tense moments of silence, during which Sam’s steady gaze followed Dean patiently around the room, Dean again turned to face his younger brother. “Is this my fault?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as if to ward off the answer he figured would be coming. “Is it because of-“  
Sam cut him off with a snort of disbelief and finally he stood. “No! I mean, really, Dean?” He laughed again and shook his hair from his eyes, then turned to walk into their small kitchen. “I’m just not attracted to girls. How does that have anything to do with you?” Dean heard the refrigerator open and the familiar sound of bottles clinking together before it closed again. Then Sam was beside him, silently urging him back to sitting as he passed over the cold beer.  
Dean twisted the slick glass bottle in his hands, his thoughts a blur. “What about that blonde chick, Jennifer?” he remembered, motioning vaguely with one hand. Hadn’t Sam dated her for the better part of his senior year?  
Sam shrugged, leaning forward to snap the bottle cap off on the edge of the table before taking a gulp. “Jessica?” he supplied the correction and Dean nodded, thumbs toying with the edges of his bottle cap as he watched his brother. “She was a lesbian,” Sam told him, settling back into the armchair, only slightly less used than the couch. “Her folks were real conservative though. So we faked being together until graduation.” He laughed then, as if remembering some long forgotten joke. “As open-minded as people are in college, being gay in high school still meant getting your ass kicked on a semi-regular basis.”  
Dean didn’t smile, and after several moments the grin faded from Sam’s face until they were just staring at each other. Dean leaned forward, faking a cough to distract a bit from the awkwardness of the situation. “Guys, huh?” Sam nodded, watching as Dean mimicked his earlier movements, popping the lid off the bottle between his hand and the table. Dean sat up and looked back at him. “Since junior high?” Again, Sam nodded, taking another swig from his bottle. Then Dean rolled his eyes and snorted. “Should have fucking known, man,” he grumbled, and brought his beer to his lips. “Princess hair,” he finished, and managed a few gulps before ducking the remote Sam chunked at his head.  
Same bitch face, same laugh, same Sammy looking at him with puppy dog eyes so hopeful for his big brother’s approval. “So…” Sam cleared his throat and took another gulp of his half-empty beer, his eyes at last leaving Dean to wander aimlessly about the room, finally settling on his hand wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “So, we cool?” he tried again and Dean figured he might have imagined all the insecurity of the question.  
Still, he shrugged. “I am,” he snorted, falling so easily back into his normal big brother routine. It was easier, it was familiar. “You’ll always be a nerd.” He pushed himself from the couch, ignoring the scathing look Sam sent his way. But as he passed the chair, he ruffled his brother’s hair, like he hadn’t done since he’d been in high school and Sammy was still a foot shorter than him. “But we’re good, anyway.” Because even if it wasn’t true, even if he was still unwilling to accept that the brother he’d practically raised was gay, Sammy was still Sammy. Family was what mattered, and it was all he had. He wasn’t about to lose it, not for anything.


	2. Lisa's Advice

Okay. He wasn’t okay. He tried, he really did. But it all just came down to one thing. Somehow, sometime, he’d let his little brother down. It didn’t matter what Sammy had said, or even what his friend and agent Lisa Braeden was trying to tell him now. Dean knew one thing for sure: it was his fault.  
“It’s not your fault,” Lisa’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean snorted, slipping further down into the faux leather seat of his friend’s minivan and shoving the sunglasses higher on his face. The tinted windows did a good enough job of keeping out most of the sun, but with the dark glasses, Dean could pretend they weren’t driving through downtown L.A. He hated the city and wished he could be back home, elbow deep in grease as he worked on restoring one of the beat up classic cars that might otherwise go to waste in Bobby’s scrap yard.  
Lisa meant well, he figured. Didn’t mean she knew what the hell she was talking about, and he told her so. Anyone else might have taken offense, but this was Lisa. They’d been friends way too long and lived through too much shit together. So she just rolled her eyes and puffed stray hairs from her face as she switched lanes. “Fine. Blame yourself, you’re going to do it anyway. So what are you going to change?”  
“Change?” Dean echoed, lolling his head back to the window to watch Lisa as the woman nodded. “What are you talking about?”  
Lisa shrugged with one shoulder. “Once you realize something is wrong, you have to change it, right? According to you,” she spared him a pointed look before their light turned green, “Sam is the way he is because of something you’ve done. Or not done, heck, I don’t know how your mind works. Point is, you’ve got to change something before you can fix it,” she concluded, pulling the minivan into a familiar parking lot and maneuvering into a space near the back.  
Dean focused on the question, mentally running through every mistake he could remember making since his father’s death. “Is this something that can be fixed?” he asked, his voice low with thought.  
“No, idiot,” Lisa answered quickly, grabbing her bag and pushing open the door. “Not that you’ll listen to me.”  
Dean made a face at her before hopping out his own door. He closed it with a satisfying thunk, and stretched his arms above his head. “I meant, isn’t it too late?” he said as Lisa walked around the van to his side. “Sam’s already decided he’s all about the dick. How is me changing anything going to fix it?”  
Lisa shrugged. “I said this wasn’t your fault anyway,” she told him, pulling his arms down so she could work on straightening his jacket, messing with his short hair and generally making him more presentable. Dean rolled his eyes but let her to it. She was his agent after all. Maybe it made her feel like she was doing more than making sure the company followed the contract. “But, you know,” she started, her voice low as she refused to meet his gaze, eyes intent instead on her hands smoothing the cloth lying on his shoulders. “You could quit this.”  
This. Dean didn’t need to ask. Lisa had been less-than-subtly pushing him to quit making adult videos for the last year and he sighed, reaching up to grip her wrists gently. “We’ve talked about this,” he said, letting her hands fall from his.  
“Money’s not the issue anymore, Dean,” she interrupted before he could list off all the reasons he needed to stay. “You own the house now, and the car. I’ve got my own place, with plenty in savings, and Ben is starting school next year.” She met his eyes then, silent pleading lacing the warm brown of her gaze. “Please, Dean, I know you don’t like this even half as much as you pretend. I’ve got offers for you, real offers, for real movies.”  
Dean snorted. “The minute I stepped in that studio,” he motioned towards the large building with Hellhounds, LLC emblazoned across one side, “we knew there was only one kind of acting I could ever do.” He rolled his shoulders, taking a few steps towards the building before glancing back to his friend. “Besides,” he continued as she moved to walk in stride with him, “Sammy’s still got another year of school to pay for, and I still got a contract.”  
“For one more movie, Dean,” Lisa pointed out, waving her index finger in his direction. “One more and it’s this train wreck. Then you’re free to move on.”  
She sounded so hopeful then, so concerned for him, that Dean bit down his automatic response of denial and just nodded. He slapped on a grin, throwing an arm around her shoulders to pull Lisa into his side. “Train wreck?” he protested, adopting the snobbish Hollywood tone he normally despised. “I’ll have you know, my last four movies have topped the charts. I’m a star, babe,” he finished, giving her the half grin that made him famous in certain circles, and pushed his sunglasses up on his head to wink at her.  
Lisa laughed, elbowing him lightly in the side. She opened her mouth, no doubt with a smart reply, but a glance over Dean’s shoulder stopped her short. “Oh, damn it,” she snarled, and Dean’s brows lifted. Even the mild curse was unusual for his single-mother friend.  
His arm still around her shoulders, Dean turned, his gaze scanning the parking lot until he spotted what had caught her attention, and ire. The cherry red convertible was unmistakable, unique even in a city where sports cars outnumbered licensed drivers. “Son of a bitch,” he snapped, because really there was nothing else he could say.


	3. It's a Trap

Dean settled back in his chair, hardly listening as Lisa spoke with Alistair Heyerdahl, the studio’s head director. He trusted her well enough anyway to look out for his interests, and she was much more tactful when it came to discussing script issues. It was too bad there wasn’t a clause in his contract that allowed him to pick his partner, otherwise he sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting across the conference table from Ruby Cortese. She sent him a sultry smile, just the edges of her red lips curling as her eyes narrowed seductively and her fingers toyed with the edges of her copy of the script.  
Dean hated her. But he kept his face impassive. “Dean,” she greeted him, finally breaking the silence they’d maintained since meeting in the hall. Her agent glanced at them, but said nothing. Under the table, Dean felt Lisa place a calming hand on his thigh, though her attention seemed never to waver from her argument with Alistair.  
“Ruby,” he replied, keeping his voice steady. “Lure any more kids to hell lately?”  
She only laughed at him, flipping her dark wavy hair over her shoulder, before leaning over the table in a manner clearly meant to display her attributes. Rather than arousal, all Dean could feel was the disgust curling in the pit of his stomach. “Be fair, baby,” she drawled, one red tipped nail drawing vague designs on the slick table top. “Joanna is just darling at this gig, and your little brother would have been bigger than even you.” Ruby leaned back in her chair and spun slightly away as she laughed low. “In more ways than one,” she finished with a lewd wink in his direction.  
Lisa’s hand on his leg tightened to a painful grip, proof that she was listening to their exchange, and sending him a silent plea to keep things civil. Dean folded his hands together to still the angry trembling in his fingers and sent Ruby a tight smile. “You can’t handle this Winchester, Ruby. You shouldn’t bite off more than you can chew,” he told her, struggling to keep his voice light. Even he could hear how he failed, his recommendation coming out as more a threat.  
Still, the woman only smiled at him, eyes alight with wicked mischief. “Who said anything about chewing?” she returned, the tip of her tongue darting out to run suggestively over her lips as her eyes raked over his figure.  
Dean didn’t bother to hide his disgust then, and was never more grateful for Lisa as when she stood, signaling the end of their meeting. Dean bolted up, pushing the chair back a little too forcefully in his hurry, but if Alistair noticed, the older man chose not to comment, simply rising to his feet and shaking Dean’s and Lisa’s hands in turn. “As always, a pleasure doing business with you,” he told them with a smarmy smile.  
He forced a smile back before Dean rounded the table, eyes on the door and escape with Lisa hot on his heels. Ruby’s hand gripped his when he passed too close and Dean looked down at her, brow raised as he subtly tried to pull away. “Speaking of our dear friends,” Ruby started, using Dean’s arm to pull herself up to standing way too close for his comfort, “have you checked out our co-stars?”  
Before he could ask what she meant, Lisa was pressing at his back, urging him out the door. “Sorry to cut this short, darling,” she called to Ruby, neither looking nor sounding at all apologetic. “We’ve got other business, you know, things to do, and such. Ta!” Lisa waved over her shoulder, dropping the fake cheerfulness as soon as the door closed behind them. Dean and Lisa looked at the solid wood for a moment, then she let out a sigh of relief, stepping around Dean to head down the hallway, her pace much quicker now that they were leaving than it had been on arrival.  
“What the hell was she talking about, Lisa?” Dean asked, easily keeping pace with his shorter friend. “Dear friends and co-stars. What was all that shit?”  
Lisa sighed again, her hand rising to absently toy with the ends of her loose ponytail. “As much as I wish I could say Ruby was only trying to rile you,” Lisa confessed, clearly uncomfortable, “truth is, this whole film is like…” she paused, her hands floating in the air helplessly as she searched for the words, “like a clip show of all your favorite mistakes.”  
“Come again,” Dean said, nodding shortly to the secretary as they passed. She took a moment to wave at them before turning her attention back to the line of applicants auditioning for the newest Hellhounds production. Dean shook his head as he looked over the group. God, some of them were just kids. Lisa beat him to the door, holding it open for him to pass through. Once outside, they paused briefly, squinting against the glaring sunlight after the semi-dark studio offices.  
Lisa waited until they were safely seated in her van, away from prying eyes and ears, before she passed him a thin folder of papers. He lifted his brows at her in question, but she only motioned again to the folder, then focused on pulling on her seatbelt as if the task actually required brain power. So Dean flipped it open, frowning when Ruby’s headshot greeted him. Quickly, he rotated it to the back. The next photo pulled an unceremonious “Fuck” from him. The printed name might have read ‘Joanna Tal’ but Dean would recognize his childhood friend anywhere. Joanna Beth Harvelle. He’d known that Ruby had managed to bring Jo into their world, but this would be his first time acting with her. “Ellen is going to kill me,” he muttered.  
“Yeah, keep going,” Lisa ordered, the sarcastic lilt to her tone clear indication that he wouldn’t like what he was going to see. “It gets better.”  
He flipped through the photos at a steady pace, punctuating each with another curse. Tessa. “Shit.” Garth. “Crap.” Meg. “Damn it.” Amy and Bela. “Hell and balls,” he finished, closing the folder and tossing it over his shoulder to the middle row of seats. Lisa nodded, pulling the car smoothly into traffic. “It’s like the devil himself cast this film,” he growled. “Get me out of it, Lisa.”  
She shook her head, her frown deepening. “Would if I could, Dean, really. But remember that little thing you have called a contract? We negotiated away your right to decide what films you’d do in exchange for the higher pay and the one percent clause.” Dean cursed again, though he knew that the one percent he continued to make off the sale of each film was the bulk of Sammy’s tuition. Lisa’s laugh brought him out of his thoughts, though there was no humor in the sound. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d think Alistair was trying to get you to quit.”  
His brows lifted from frown to surprise at that. “Quit?” he echoed doubtfully. “All the money I make that man, you’d reckon he’d be doing all he can to get me to stay.”  
Lisa puffed out another sigh, her eyes never leaving the road. “Alright, hotshot, keep up with me here because things are about to get a little convoluted.” Dean settled back against the door and put on his best listening face, because when Lisa said things were going to get convoluted, she meant it. “You quit, you break contract. And this,” she pointed a finger at him, “is the kind of break that usually results in a you’ll-never-work-in-this-town-again attitude. Hellhounds is particularly notorious for this sort of thing. You quit, they sue, you’re broke, under a ton of debt, and without options, so you go crawling back.” She put her hand back on the wheel, her fingers running nervously over the furred cover. “Alistair and his boss get what they really wanted all along: a hot ticket porn star at a cut rate price.”  
“Like I’d come back,” Dean snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.  
Lisa didn’t pay any attention to his show of rebellion, only shaking her head as if she found him hopelessly naïve. “I’m not going to pretend to know everything that goes on with that company, Dean,” she told him, “but I’m not dumb enough to believe that they don’t have ways of making you come back. Not after going through all the trouble of forcing you to break from your contract.”  
Silence fell in the car for several miles, Lisa watching carefully out the windshield and Dean staring blankly out his window. “So,” he finally said, just as old warehouses and rundown office buildings began to give way to neat houses and well-trimmed yards, “I’ll just be sure not to break.” Lisa nodded her agreement, but the furrow of her brows betrayed her worry.


	4. Gabriel is out, and out, and out on the town

Gabriel Novak prided himself on quite a few things. His charm was unrivaled, he knew. He was highly intelligent, as expected of a university professor, with a gift for languages that meant he was never without something to say, even if it made no sense to conversation. He was a tad on the short side, but he worked it. In all, he was outright awesome. His older brother, Michael, said he was an egotist. His younger brother, Castiel, called him overconfident. His girlfriend of three years, Anna Milton, was using language decidedly less complimentary and throwing things at his head with an accuracy of aim Gabriel had had no idea she possessed. “Come on, buttercup,” he tried, using his best soothing voice.  
It only served to piss the redhead off more. “Buttercup?” she snapped, searching the room with angry disorientation before finding and lobbing a glass vase at his head. It shattered against the wall behind him, because Gabriel had the athletic speed of a tiger. Just another mark in his favor, though he knew Anna was far from admiring it just then. “And how many times did you call your whore that?”  
“Never,” he replied, realizing too late the trap she’d set with the question. He winced as her face flushed darker, her eyes flashing. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he told her, and winced again as her scream of frustration pierced through their apartment. His eyes widened as she reached for the nearest object, a statue carved from solid onyx, its smooth and graceful lines belying its weight. He scrambled to duck behind the door, feeling the heavy wood shudder under the force of the statue. Then he heard the click of the lock, followed quickly by the deadbolt slamming firmly into place. “Aw, don’t do this, lover,” he called through the closed door, knocking pleadingly with his knuckles.  
“Go fuck your whore, Gabriel!” came the yelled response. He heard more things being thrown around and then another yell. “Better yet, go fuck yourself!”  
Gabriel heard a snicker and turned in time to catch their neighbor slipping back into his own apartment. He flipped the bird at the man’s partially closed door, partnered with his most charming smile. Then turned from his own apartment and straightened his jacket. Well, that was one bridge burned beyond repair. But it wasn’t like he didn’t have options. So Gabriel took the elevator to ground level and strolled out the double doors. Pausing on the sidewalk, he looked up to find not only Anna’s gaze trained angrily on him, but those of several other residents, in varying expressions of curiosity or disgust. He grinned at them and shouted up, “Gabriel has left the building. Peace out, bitches!” His mood was better as he walked away, whistling cheerfully and ignoring the sound of glass shattering as something else hit the pavement, from his former apartment if Anna screaming behind him gave him any clue.  
An hour later, he was beginning to doubt his previous conclusion concerning his awesomeness when the scene repeated itself with almost disturbing similarities at the apartment he shared with his girlfriend of two years, Kali Sharma. With “Go fuck yourself” ringing in his ears for the second time that night, Gabriel decided that the most obvious course of action was to find himself a bar and drink himself stupid. With any luck, he could find another place to stay with a new girlfriend before the end of the night.  
Kali’s place was on the seedier side of town, just a few blocks from the Crossroads so he walked, grinning and spreading his arms wide when he rounded the corner. Bars and dives on both sides of the street for half a mile, any number of places for a discerning individual to get wasted.  
Three bars and four hours later, Gabriel had worked his way through beers and lagers, and had moved on to hard liquor when he was tossed from another bar. Really, was it his fault that every chick he’d hooked up with in the last seven weeks was staked out at each of his favorite bars? He’d been slapped more times than he could count, though given the amount of alcohol in his system he might admit to a certain dullness in his math skills. He stumbled for a moment, trying to regain his balance, then stood, straightening his jacket and turning his eyes to the next bar down the street. The neon lights blurred a little in his vision, and he could feel the sounds of music, laughter and talking only slightly dulled by the doors. None of it meant he was so drunk he couldn’t go for more though, and he started walking. He opened the door to the next bar just in time for the bouncer to shove another man out. Together, they staggered and fell in an undignified heap as another, more sober couple walked in, laughing.  
The man pushed himself up, only slightly more steady on his feet than Gabriel himself, and shouted a string of curses at the closed doors that sent Gabriel’s eyebrows rocketing into his hair. “Brother, I know the kind of drinking you’re doing,” Gabriel sang and the man turned back to him, almost losing his footing.  
“The hell did you come from?” he snapped, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously as the shorter man slowly regained his upright position.  
Gabriel squinted back down the road, finding one mess of neon lights that looked vaguely more familiar than the others. “That bar over there,” he pointed, then turned the other way, hand still raised. “So I guess that means I’m going that way.”  
The other man snorted. “Bitches that way,” he told him, miming shooting himself in the head. “Let’s go that way,” he pointed across the street. Gabriel didn’t hesitate, just nodded his agreement and threw an arm around the man’s shoulder, extending the other as if to say, “lead on.”  
By the time they’d crossed the street, which may have taken longer than it should have, and may have disturbed more drivers than was absolutely necessary, he and his companion, Dean, were best friends. And Gabriel told him so. “Seriously, I mean it! I love you, bro.” Gabriel stressed as he pulled open the door to the newest bar. “I’ma jus’ keep drinking with you, ‘cause like every chick tonight…” he trailed off, eyes comically wide as he shook his head with remembered pain.  
Dean nodded his agreement, cheeks flushed with drink and mouth set in a firm line. “Every chick all week,” he said aloud and flagged a waitress to order a bottle of whiskey Gabriel reckoned would keep their glasses filled for at least another forty minutes. After he’d taken his first gulp and refilled for another, Dean added, “Half the dudes, too. Shit’s just fucked.”  
“I hear that,” Gabriel laughed and lifted his glass in a drunken toast before downing the whole thing, slamming it down and slapping his hand on the table for a refill.  
It was less than twenty minutes later that both men were again shoved from the bar and Dean was even angrier. “Dick don’t know drunk from buzzed,” he told Gabriel with a snarl.  
Gabriel only laughed, stumbling down the street to a bus stop. There were no buses running this late into the night, but the worn out bench was better than the ground, and he spread out on it, making sure to leave room for his new friend. “Fuck, I’m way past buzzed, pal,” he admitted, stuffing a hand into his pocket to find his cell phone. He pulled it out and stared blankly at the keypad. “Which is number three?” he asked, and passed the phone to Dean.  
Dean snorted a laugh and grabbed it, staring at the screen for several moments before hitting the correct button. The faint sound of the phone calling from speed dial echoed briefly in the air between them until the man on the other end answered and Dean put the phone to his ear. “’Lo?” he asked, brows furrowed as if he’d forgotten that it wasn’t his phone in hand. “Gabriel?” He turned green eyes to his companion and Gabriel waved at him to keep talking, a sloppy grin spread across his face. “Gabriel’s drunk. Better come pick him up.” And with no further information, Dean clicked the phone off and tossed it into the other man’s lap. Gabriel nodded his thanks as he pushed it back into his pocket, registered that the world was tilting dangerously then passed out, slumped across the wide bench.


	5. An Auspicious Beginning

Sam leaned back in his chair, the creaking loud in the silence of his room, and rubbed his hand over his face. It was late July, and school wouldn’t be starting for another month. So for the fifth time that night, Sam questioned why he was studying rather than spending his summer having fun. And for the fifth time that night, he reminded himself of his impressive grade point average and the importance of keeping it.  
The ringing of his phone, even across the room and muffled by his bed sheets, still startled him, and he jumped up, taking several seconds to process before he realized someone was actually calling him. By the time he’d found and disentangled the phone, the ringing had stopped and the screen blinked with the voicemail icon. Sam pushed his hair back from his face as flipped open the phone and pushed play. “Sammy, I’m at the Crossroads. Come get me.”  
Sam waited for more, and rolled his eyes when he realized that the short message was really all that Dean had left for him. “Jerk didn’t even tell me he was in town, just goes and gets wasted,” Sam muttered to himself as he searched the room for his jacket, then the jacket for his keys. Dean had taken the Impala when he’d left for L.A. the week before, so Sam had been stuck with their piece of shit back up vehicle. Just another reason to stay home and study instead of getting a life.  
It was a twenty minute drive across town, during which Sam tried calling Dean seven times, leaving three voicemails asking for more specific directions. When he reached the Crossroads, Sam pulled into a parking spot, automatically searching the lot for the Impala. He spotted her distinctive black lines several spots away and hurried over, but a quick glance through the windows showed no Dean. So huffing out a breath of annoyance, Sam turned and headed across the street.  
If their town had a bar district, this would have to be it. Nine dives, four honky-tonks, three sports bars, two strip clubs and one very out of place cocktail lounge lining the street on either side, collectively called The Crossroads. “Fuck,” Sam breathed as he took in the masses pouring through the doors. Dean was going to owe him.  
Sam found a waitress at the third bar he searched who remembered a man matching Dean’s description, but he’d been tossed out some hours earlier for ‘antagonizing the band.’ When he asked what she meant, a sour expression passed over the woman’s pretty face. She pointed to the guitarist, and even under the poor lighting, Sam could see the bruise darkening the man’s left eye. “Called him a hack,” the waitress told him, “said he couldn’t play Def Leopard even with sheet music, then pulled him from the stage to leave him that little parting gift.”  
The laugh escaped before he could stop it, and at the woman’s annoyed expression, Sam hid it with a cough. “Thanks,” he told her and dropped a five on the table before he left. The expression on her face told him that it wasn’t enough for what she’d dealt with. He gave her his best apologetic smile before leaving the bar. An hour of searching produced no Dean, but cost Sam nearly three hundred in damages between one of the sports bars and both strip clubs. He couldn’t hear the ringing, but he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and quickly answered with a frustrated, “Dean?”  
“Sammy,” Dean yelled through the phone, and Sam pulled it away with a grimace. His brows furrowed when he realized he could still hear Dean calling him and, turning in nearly a full circle, finally spotted his brother sprawled on a bus stop bench across the street, waving his arm over his head. “Over here, Sammy!” he yelled and Sam clicked his phone closed on the echo before quickly and cautiously making his way across the street.  
“Alright, what the hell, Dean,” he started as soon as he reached his brother’s side, only to have the other man shush him with exaggerated gestures.  
Then, in a voice too loud to really be a whisper, Dean said, “You’re gonna wake him.” He thumbed to his side where a man was snoring softly. At least, Sam figured it was a man from the rumpled jacket and trim brown hair. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, choosing not to point out that Dean himself had just been yelling loud enough to be heard across the street.  
“Right,” Sam said slowly, then reached for Dean’s arm to pull him up. “Come on, let’s go.”  
Dean shook his head and pulled his arm away, stumbling back to sitting on the bench. “Can’t just leave him, Sammy,” he scolded. “Not all alone and passed out. You just don’t do that to a friend.” He patted the unconscious man’s leg with a smile, then looked back to Sam with drunken seriousness.  
“Dean,” Sam started warningly, then stopped and took a deep breath. Then he took another one. Feeling slightly calmer, and knowing that Dean wouldn’t leave until his ‘friend’ had, Sam tried again. “Alright, what’s his name?”  
Dean’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Whose?” Sam stared at him, trying to decide if Dean had sobered enough to joke around. Coming to the frustrating conclusion that his brother was still out of his head, Sam pointed the sleeping stranger, who flinched and grumbled something unintelligible, but didn’t wake. Dean turned his head to look down at the man. “Oh,” he said and shrugged. “Dunno.” Sam nearly lost his cool then, but Dean grinned up at him and continued. “But we called his ride like… how long did it take you to find me?”  
“An hour and a half,” Sam told him dryly, his fists clenching at his sides as he remembered the loss of his three hundred dollars on top of the utter waste of his time.  
“Whoa,” Dean breathed, his eyes going comically wide. “We called his ride like an hour and a half ago. Maybe they’re lost?” As much as Sam wanted to just grab Dean and leave, his brother sounded so concerned just then that he reigned in the urge. Didn’t mean he was going to waste any more time talking to the souse though. Sam knelt next to the stranger and fumbled with his jacket until he located the pockets, ignoring Dean’s shout of laughter and cry of “Gay.” He found what he was searching for, pulling out a much used phone. Luckily, there was no lock on the screen and it was easy enough for Sam to find the recent calls list. He called the first name on the list, hoping it was the right one. All he needed was to be calling some poor bastard the man had drunk dialed.  
“Gabriel?” a low voice asked on the first ring and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. That was bar music in the background, so this was definitely the person the drunk had called.  
“Um, no,” he said aloud, standing and looking up and down the street for someone else on the phone. Not that it would narrow anything down. Everyone was on their damn phone. “But if Gabriel’s the poor sap passed out drunk on this bench, I think you might be looking in the wrong place.” He gave quick instructions to the man on the other end of the line before hanging up and dropping the phone back into the man’s pocket. “Your friend’s name is Gabriel, by the way.”  
Dean laughed, and Sam looked at him with brows raised. “I knew that,” his brother said with a shrug, still grinning stupidly. Sam fought the urge to choke him.  
“Gabriel,” a man’s voice called, and Sam turned from his brother to see a shorter man, dark hair sloppy and tie askew under his trench coat rushing towards them. He knelt next to the other man, slapping his cheek lightly in an attempt to wake him.  
“Gay,” Dean shouted again, and collapsed into laughter.  
Sam flushed with embarrassment when the man turned his confused gaze first on Dean and then to Sam. He cleared his throat awkwardly then motioned to Dean. “He’s drunk.”  
The man nodded his understanding and stood. “I’m Castiel Novak,” he said, his voice steady and polite despite the situation. “Thank you for looking after my brother. I hope he did not cause you too much trouble.”  
“Uh, no,” Sam stammered, trying to ignore Dean’s drunken rambling as easily as Castiel seemed able. “No trouble. He’s been asleep.” Castiel nodded and turned back to his brother, trying again to rouse the man. Gabriel was just as unresponsive as he’d been since Sam’s arrival. Sam brought his attention back to his own brother. “Alright, Dean. Your friend is taken care of, so let’s go now.” He reached for Dean’s arm and for the second time that night was pushed away.  
That look of drunken concern had returned to Dean’s face, and Sam knew what was coming before his brother even opened his mouth. He cursed every beer that had taken Dean past his flirty stage, through his angry stage, and straight on to fun and friendly. “Carry him, Sammy. Can’t let them walk back on their own.” He threw an arm in the direction of the parking lot where the Impala sat waiting for them. “It’s forever away.”  
Castiel shook his head. “It is not necessary…”  
“Trust me when I say you’re wasting your breath,” Sam told him and moved in front of Gabriel, pulling the unconscious man to a semi-sitting position. He stirred then, brown eyes opening to stare blankly at Sam before flicking to the left where his brother watched, his face set with concern. “I’m here to help,” Sam told him as he turned and knelt. “Give me your hands,” he ordered, holding his own over his shoulders until he felt the other man gripping him. A moment’s maneuvering had Gabriel riding piggy back as Sam pushed himself to standing.  
The man let out a drunken squeal of delight and Sam grimaced as the sound pierced the air right next to his ear. “I’m taller’n you, Castiel!” the man shouted and laughed, his feet kicking out on either side of Sam’s waist. Sam couldn’t help but smile at that and at Castiel’s demure nod as they started back towards the start of Crossroads, Dean leaning heavily on the shorter man.  
It was slow going as Dean seemed to stumble every fifth step and even Gabriel’s light weight started dragging on him. Dean and Gabriel’s steady stream of mostly incoherent conversation was interrupted when Gabriel suddenly pushed his nose into the hair behind Sam’s ear, startling the taller man so much that he almost dropped him. “You have such pretty hair,” the man murmured, running the fingers of one hand through Sam’s hair.  
“Princess hair,” Dean told him, face a mask of seriousness, and almost tripped. Castiel caught him again, and pulled Dean’s arm over his shoulder for better support. Sam nodded his thanks.  
“Princess hair,” Gabriel repeated, and Sam rolled his eyes. Then he sucked in a breath as Gabriel nuzzled his neck. “And it smells good too,” he said low, his breath brushing over the sensitive skin of Sam’s neck. Sam felt the flush rising to his cheeks and he cleared his throat again. Damn, it must have been too long since the last time he’d gotten laid if some drunk copping the most chaste of feels was starting to turn him on.  
All thoughts of arousal flew straight out of his head in the next ten seconds, when Gabriel pulled himself up higher on Sam’s back, leaned over his left shoulder and puked. Sam immediately turned his head away with a sound of disgust, Dean burst into uncontrollable giggles, and Castiel gasped, “Gabriel!”  
“Sorry, sorry,” Gabriel murmured, slipping back down Sam’s back and dropping his head against his arm just behind Sam’s shoulder as the taller man leaned forward, trying to keep his now ruined jacket from touching any part of the rest of him.  
Sam stood still for a few moments and looked back at Castiel, who was apologizing for his brother in a mortified tone. “It’s alright,” he broke in when Castiel took a breath and gave the man what he was sure was the tightest of smiles. “This wasn’t my favorite jacket anyway.” Castiel nodded and they started walking again, both men keeping a wary eye on their charges for any more surprises.  
When they finally reached the parking lot, Dean pulled away from Castiel and staggered to his car, calling endearments until he reached it. As his brother hugged the vehicle, Sam followed Castiel to his car and helped the man load Gabriel into the back seat. “Sorry, sorry,” the half-awake man muttered again as Sam backed away.  
“I can replace the jacket, if you’d like,” Castiel offered but Sam waved him off. “Very well. Thank you again,” he said and nodded his head in farewell. Sam didn’t wait for them to leave, just turned and walked to the Impala. Dean had let himself in and was stretched across the backseat, feet hanging out the door as he snored loudly. Sam reached in and pulled the keys from Dean’s loose grasp, then shoved his legs inside the car to close the door, not caring if he was comfortable.  
He walked to the driver’s side, lifting the edge of his jacket away with the tips of his fingers. With a sigh, he slipped the jacket off, put his phone and keys in his jeans pocket and rolled up the offending garment. After a moment’s silent debate, Sam threw the jacket to the ground. He wouldn’t wear it again, no matter how many times it was washed. It would always remind him of the sour smell of vomit. Looking over at the P.O.S. car he’d driven there and just resolving to pick it up in the morning, Sam lowered himself into the Impala’s driver’s seat. It wasn’t often he got to drive the car, and Sam smiled. At least something good had come from this night, though that by no means meant that Dean wasn’t going to pay him back it all.


	6. Cinnamon Toast and Aspirin

Castiel stood in the middle of his kitchen, contemplating breakfast. Normally, he skipped the meal, simply grabbing a slice of bread on his way out the door. But Gabriel had spent the night, and time with his brother was a rare enough occurrence that Castiel felt a break in his routine might be acceptable. A glance inside his fridge showed limited options that were not helped by the contents of his cabinets. Given Gabriel’s condition the night before, Castiel wasn’t sure his brother could handle much of anything just now. Still, politeness dictated that he provide some form of repast for his guest. 

 

Ten minutes and one burnt finger later, Castiel set a plate of cinnamon covered toast on the counter. A shuffling noise came from the door and he turned in time to see his brother stumble in, an expression equal parts dazed and confused on his sleep flushed face. The confusion at least cleared quickly. “Oh, so I’m at your place,” Gabriel said and Castiel didn’t point out that his brother really should have known that, having been here before. He watched the other man take a few unsteady steps to the table, before sliding into a chair. Then he slumped forward, the old wood creaking dangerously under his weight. 

 

For several moments, neither man said a word and Castiel stepped back to his counter. As he poured coffee into a pair of mugs, he heard the plate slide across the table and smiled. He knew Gabriel wouldn’t be able to resist the sugary treat, no matter how his binging the night before left him feeling. Gabriel hardly spared him a glance when Castiel moved to sit across from him, eyes closed as he slowly munched on a slice, the bread half-hanging from his mouth. 

 

Castiel pushed a mug towards his brother, then sat quickly, taking small slips of the hot liquid. When Gabriel had downed two slices, Castiel set his mug on the table, trailing his fingers lightly over the heated glass. “So what happened last night?” he asked.

 

“Damn, I was counting on you to remember,” Gabriel laughed, then immediately winced, his head ducking a little lower. He reached for his mug and sipped loudly from it. “Anna dumped me,” he finally said, and Castiel nodded, sorry for his brother’s loss. His pity lasted for only the briefest moment though as Gabriel continued, “Kali dumped me too. They found out about each other and they both kicked me out.” Gabriel shrugged, as if it was no great sin that he’d apparently been involved with two women simultaneously. 

 

Hoping to hide the shock he was sure was on his face, Castiel lifted his mug to his lips, taking several long swallows as he listened to Gabriel confess to multiple women besides Anna and Kali. He had known, of course, for years that his brother was certainly less moral than he. Gabriel had always fought the strictness their Catholic upbringing had imposed. Even Castiel had chafed under such religious watchfulness and had chosen to join the Methodist church several years earlier. Still, he had never expected Gabriel to stray so far from the flock. Only God had the right to judge, he reminded himself, but his instinctive disapproval was harder to tamp down. 

 

Castiel set his mug down and reached across the table for a slice of the sweetened bread as his brother fell to silence. Several minutes passed during which both men just chewed. Then Gabriel broke the silence with, “I threw up on a sasquatch.” 

 

Instantly, Castiel felt the blood rush to his face as he remembered his mortification. “That was Sammy. He looked after you until I arrived, and carried you back to my car when the other one told him to. I should have made you walk.” He rubbed a hand over his face, as if by doing so he could scrub away the embarrassment. 

 

Gabriel nodded. “That would have been Dean, right?” he asked, sounding proud for remembering on his own. Castiel only nodded and took another gulp of his coffee, grateful for the burn that distracted him from thinking on that night. How could Gabriel not feel the slightest hint of shame? “Did he look familiar to you?” his brother continued. Castiel frowned, trying to picture the other man. He got a vague impression of green eyes, but couldn’t quite remember the rest of his face. He had been a little busy trying to keep the man from walking into street poles. So he shook his head. “Humph,” Gabriel muttered, reaching for the last slice of sweet toast. “I swear I’ve seen him before, just can’t place him. Should have asked…” he trailed off, then shrugged. “Oh, well. Guess it isn’t too important.” 

 

Castiel took in his brother’s face, the haggard lines of pain nearly gone. “Are you feeling better?” he asked, trying to remember if he still had a bottle of aspirin in his junk drawer. Gabriel’s enthusiastic nod told him he wouldn’t need it, but he stood anyway and moved across the kitchen to check. “So what will you do now?” he asked, pushing aside a half-empty package of batteries and a pair of scissors as he looked for that familiar blue bottle. “I don’t suppose you have yet another girlfriend with another apartment?” He felt immediately bad for asking. The question had sounded less rude in his head. 

 

Gabriel either didn’t notice or didn’t care. His voice was cheerful as ever as he replied, “Nope. I’m homeless now, little brother.” Castiel knew what was coming before Gabriel said it, and tried to stop it, to suggest a hotel or even Michael, but he was too late. “Mind if I borrow your couch for a while?”

 

When Castiel was eleven, every morning for an entire month Gabriel had woken him with an air horn. It had taken years to work through the panic that used to seize in his chest whenever he heard one. The older boy had wrapped the toilet in plastic wrap, mixed bottles of soap with food coloring, poured soy sauce in half his cokes, and replaced entire packages of vanilla pudding with mayonnaise. Even now, nearly fifteen years later, Castiel still couldn’t enjoy what used to be his favorite treat. As much as he knew he would regret it, Castiel’s conscience would allow him no other course of action. He sighed, rolling his eyes heavenward in silent prayer, as he answered, “Of course, Gabriel. You are always welcome.” 

 

“Thanks, little bro,” Gabriel grinned, pushing his chair from the table and standing to stretch his arms over his head. “And hey, if you’re not doing anything today, want to brave the dragon’s keep with me?” At Castiel’s blank look, his grin widened. “I need clothes and Anna waitresses on Saturdays. Thanks,” he called, without waiting for an answer and strode from the room, whistling tunelessly. 

 

Castiel leaned his hip against the counter and shoved a hand through his hair. It had been years since he’d lived with Gabriel. Perhaps the man had matured in that time. He pictured his brother riding piggy back on a stranger. “I’m taller’n you, Castiel!” he’d laughed. Castiel pulled out his aspirin and popped the cap, swallowing a couple without bothering with the coffee to wash it down. Then he moved to the refrigerator and added to his shopping list ‘aspirin’ in careful letters.


	7. Lunch with Sammy

Dean woke sometime around noon, sitting up in bed and staring blankly at the posters on the wall for several minutes until the blurred images of various cars, and the beautiful women bent over them, became clear. Then, deciding it was safe to get up, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his arms over his head and making a face at the taste of stale liquor and morning breath. After a quick shower and a thorough brushing of his teeth, Dean headed down stairs for something to shut up his growling stomach. “Dean,” Sam snapped as Dean’s foot hit the last step and he jolted at the sudden noise, slipping so that he fell back and landed on his ass. Dean shot his brother a dirty look as he pushed himself up and tried to ignore the pain in his tailbone. Sam only lifted a brow, not the least bit apologetic. “You want to tell me what the hell last night was about?” Sam snapped, following as Dean stomped through their living room to the kitchen.

 

“Fuck you,” Dean replied, though there was no fire in the words. He pulled open the fridge and took a quick inventory. A few bottles of beer and a half carton of eggs two weeks past their date. Dean made a face of disgust as he closed the door. He turned for the cabinet and let out a startled “Dude” when he found Sam standing just behind him. He quickly sidestepped his younger brother, checking through the cabinets for something edible. 

 

“Come on, Dean,” Sam tried again, his voice softening with a pleading tone that Dean knew had gotten his brother what he wanted on many occasions. “Tell me what’s going on. We can work through it together.”

 

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, turning on his heel to face Sammy with his eyes narrowed and a hand held up in warning. “No chick flick moments.” His eyes landed on the pantry door behind Sam and he pushed his brother out of the way to check inside. Then he slammed the door with a groan that was echoed by his empty stomach. A few scattered packages of Ramen, a mostly empty bag of plain potato chips and a small box of white rice were not the best makings for any meal, much less a decent lunch. “Why you gotta be such a college kid?” he growled, throwing his hands up in disgust.

 

Sam shrugged. “I might have gone shopping if you’d called to say you were coming home early. Speaking of which, what happened?” Dean was about to snap back, to tell Sam to mind his own damn business, but something in his face must have given him away because Sam spoke up before he could say anything. “Lisa called.” And with just those two words, Dean felt all the anger and annoyance drain from him to be replaced by resignation and fatigue. 

 

He spotted the keys to the impala on the counter and grabbed them up, tossing them to his brother who caught them easily. “Well, take me to get some food first,” he told the other man as he reached for his jacket. “No way in Hell am I going to deal with this sober and hungry.”

 

Sam grinned victoriously and headed for the door. “Sure. Then after, we can go pick up the other car from the Crossroads. If the piece of shit is still there.” The words sounded almost hopeful, as if he wished someone would steal the junk car. 

 

An hour later found the two sitting at their favorite table at their favorite diner, a greasy burger in front of Dean and a fresh salad in front of Sam. Dean made a face at his brother’s meal before taking a large bite of his burger, closing his eyes as he savored the flavor. No one made a burger quite like Rufus, and Dean had sampled enough truck-stop burgers to know. Sam waited as Dean chewed, pushing the lettuce around on his plate with a fork and tapping the fingers of his free hand with increasing speed on the tabletop. “Well?” he asked, after Dean had devoured half his burger.

 

Dean rolled his eyes, letting the burger fall to his plate as he sat back on the vinyl covered bench. “Ruby,” he spat and Sam’s brows furrowed briefly in confusion, then cleared as realization crossed his face. 

 

“Oh,” he breathed, leaning from the table as he watched his brother. “Ruby,” he repeated with a nod.

 

Dean sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his face. Ruby had tried more than once to trick Sam into signing the same contract that kept Dean trapped at Hellhounds. Dean had always managed to interfere, and finally just stopped taking Sam with him when he went to the city. Even if his brother felt guilty about Dean paying for the bills and for his schooling, there was no way he’d allow Sammy to ruin his future. He’d already failed Jo, and even Amy. But Sammy, Sammy he would keep safe. “The movie is shit to begin with,” Dean said, taking another quick bite of his burger. 

 

Sam nodded, drizzling low-fat ranch over his salad. “Most pornos are,” he said. “But it’s not really the story anyone pays attention to, is it?” he finished, waggling his brows with a grin. Dean chuckled his agreement.

 

“Yeah,” he said out loud. “But this one really takes the pie. It’s about these two brothers who go around hunting creatures.”

 

“Like bears and deer?” Sam asked, wondering as he chewed a crisp cucumber just how that would fit into a porno. Maybe a sexy bear costume? He tried to picture it and failed. 

 

But Dean shook his head. “Like witches and ghosts,” he clarified, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of it. Sam snorted into his glass and fought back a laugh as he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Shut up,” the shorter man snapped, though he’d had nearly the same reaction when he and Lisa had gone over the script. “I already said it was shit.”

 

“Okay, okay,” Sam laughed again and tried to pull a straight face. He only barely succeeded. “So what happens?” he asked, spearing another forkful of his salad. 

 

Dean waited until his brother was chewing before he answered. “The brothers come to investigate the disappearance of a few dudes, and find a coven of witches using sex to kill men.” Sam tried to laugh mid-chew and ended up choking on his rabbit food instead. Dean sat back with a grin, the taller man’s face growing redder as he fought for air.

 

“That’s retarded,” Sam said when he’d finally regained the power and breath to speak, several minutes and half a burger later. 

 

“Yup,” Dean agreed his face darkening as he continued. “Ruby leads the coven. We got three scenes,” he lifted his brows meaningfully then, just to be sure Sam understood what sort of scenes he meant. 

 

Sam hissed, “Ouch.” 

 

“Yeah, that’s not the worst part,” Dean went on. “I got one with Jo, and then a threesome with Tessa and Bela.” Sam’s eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth, but Dean shook a hand at him. “Wait for it: Garth is my brother, but most of his scenes are with Amy and Meg.”

 

Silence fell between them, interrupted by the clatter of dishware and conversations from other tables. “Son of a bitch,” Sam finally said softly, leaning his elbows on the table, his half eaten salad forgotten between them. “Are they trying to screw you or what?” Dean threw his arms out, his face arranged to say ‘I know, right?’ without actually using the words. Sam pushed back from the table, running his finger over the surface. “Amy, huh?” 

 

Dean nodded, his eyes falling from his brother’s face to follow the patterns of cracks in the vinyl under his hands. “Yeah,” he said softly. Amy Pond and Sam used to be inseparable, best friends with Jo all through school. If he could take back the day he’d been young and stupid enough to introduce Ruby to his friends, even as a co-worker, he’d give just about anything to have it undone. 

 

Sam cleared his throat, obviously still trying to work past that loss. “Tessa, right?” Dean nodded, trailing his fingers over those cracks now. “Didn’t you and she have that fling?” 

 

Dean sighed. “Yeah, that’s her.” Saucy Tessa McKeon, with her better-than-you attitude and incredible legs. They’d managed a relationship for all of three months before she’d shown him just why that was the sort of thing that people in their line of work couldn’t have. He’d been lucky enough not to work with her again in the last four years, but he supposed all things came due sooner or later. 

 

“And wasn’t Meg the chick—“

 

“Yeah,” Dean snapped, the word coming out more sharply than he’d intended. But that always happened when he remembered that particular gold-digging bitch. He met Meg Masters only two months before his first contract with Hellhounds expired. She’d lied to and manipulated him at every turn, then walked away with his paycheck, the one he’d been hoping would keep him and Sammy afloat long enough for Dean to get a ‘real’ job. Sam was still in high school, but they were days from getting kicked out of their late father’s house and losing the car. Because of Meg, he’d had no choice but to take the five year contract Alistair had drawn up for him. If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s becoming his agent despite her unexpected pregnancy, Dean didn’t know what sort of position he’d be in now, but he couldn’t imagine it would be good.

 

“Bela,” Sam said thoughtfully, reaching again for his fork to pick at his salad. “Was she the one who—“

 

“Yes,” Dean snarled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He’d thought Bela Talbot was like him, tricked into a contract she didn’t really want, though she’d been handling it better than he had the first time they had met, nearly three years ago. When he found what he thought was a loophole in his contract, he called Lisa. Had things gone his way, he would have been released from his deal three years and three films early, and had every intention of bringing Bela out with him. But things never went his way. Bela had overheard his conversation and gone straight to Alistair with her own attempt to quit the job. Things had gone sour for her and she’d saved him the trouble of finding out just how bad they could go but that was beyond the point. She’d stabbed him in the back, just like every other bitch at Hellhounds. He was glad that self-serving attitude had landed her in deeper shit, but it didn’t mean he ever wanted to see her again, much less work another film with her. 

 

Sam let out a low whistle, sitting back in his seat. Then his brows pulled together, his eyes flicking quickly so that Dean could tell he was trying to figure something out. “Should I know who Garth is?” the taller man finally asked, reaching out for his tea.

 

Dean rolled his eyes, pushing away the anger for the moment as he remembered the scrawny man who would be playing his brother. “Nah,” he said aloud, and polished off the last few fries scattered on his plate. “Not unless you’ve been watching my films behind my back.” He narrowed his eyes at his brother then, trying to decide if that might be something Sammy had actually done.

 

Sam snorted doubtfully. “Trust me, Dean, you’re not in any of the porn I watch.”

 

“Good,” Dean said with a short nod and changed the subject back to Garth, which held less a chance of embarrassing him. “He just gets on my nerves. No alcohol tolerance, you know, so he ain’t even good to drink with.” 

 

Sam laughed a little around his straw before his face turned serious again. “Damn, Dean,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s no wonder you got so drunk last night.”  
He nodded, then grinned at Sammy. “Was I really that far gone?” he asked, though he knew from his blurred memory of the night that he had been. 

 

Sam grinned at him. “Dude, you were downright friendly. I think we both know how many drinks it takes you to get there,” he told Dean, scooting across the bench to stand from the table. “You owe me three hundred bucks, by the way,” he said as he pulled out his wallet and dropped a few wrinkled bills on the table.

 

Dean snorted as he stood. Sam had to know that he was never paying that back. “Thanks, Rufus,” he called, waving at the older man when he looked up from the register. Sam just nodded to him on his way out the door, squinting against the bright sun after the dim lighting in the diner.

 

They clambered into the impala and Sam glanced at his brother as he passed over the keys into his expectant hand. “So,” he started, waiting for the rumbling of the car’s engine starting to smooth out before asking, “Why didn’t you just get drunk in LA? There are plenty enough bars over there that would have been faster and easier to get to.”

 

“It was worth the drive to not be in the same town as any of those bitches,” Dean replied instantly as he fiddled with the radio. 

 

Sam nodded his understanding. “So, what do you remember from last night?”

 

Dean lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug as he pulled the car from the lot and turned her towards the Crossroads. Blue eyes, he remembered. An intense sort of blue. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs of too much alcohol and not enough sleep. “Not much,” he finally said. “Some short guy with a lot of girl trouble.” His brows pulled together for a moment and then his face broke out into a wide grin as he sent a quick look at Sam. “That guy threw up on you, didn’t he?” Sam’s cheeks pinked, a sure sign to the positive, and Dean laughed. Then laughed again when they pulled into the Crossroads lot and Sam spat a curse. The shit car was still there, like a mutt waiting for his master.


	8. Shopping on Sunday is a Pain

Sam sighed, scooting his chair back from his desk to let his head fall. He was exhausted. The weeks were fine enough and all, alone as he was at the house. He spent his time studying, sometimes walking down the street to help Bobby with odd jobs at the scrapyard for a few extra bucks. But the weekends, oh the weekends! Dean drove down each Friday for the last three weeks and spent the better part of the entire weekend completely sloshed. Thankfully, tomorrow was Sunday and Dean would have to get his act together to make it back to LA before the end of the day. 

Instantly, Sam felt guilty. Sure it was a hassle trying to keep up with his brother when the other decided to drink himself to obliviousness, and even now the whole living room was cluttered with empty beer and liquor bottles that he would have to clean up. But Sam really couldn’t blame him. He’d learned long ago that it was better to forgive and forget some things rather than dwelling on them, so he held no real grudge against Ruby Cortese, even for Jo and Amy. They were grown women who had made a decision. He didn’t agree with it, but neither was it his business. Dean, though, didn’t seem to see anything so simply and carried the weight of guilt for more people than Sam was sure he knew about. Nothing he said could convince his brother that the situation was not his fault. Dean hated Ruby and that was that. 

Were it only her, Sam was sure his brother would have no problem at least pretending everything was normal. But Alistair Heyerdahl and the other fat cats at Hellhounds must have been watching Dean since the beginning to pull together a cast so ruinous to the man’s self-control, and Sam could easily believe the theory Lisa had shared when they’d spoken the morning after Dean’s first bender. If Alistair wasn’t out to get Dean, someone sure as hell was. Sam shouldn’t be wishing him back to that, no matter how much a pain his brother could be.

Sam shifted so his cheek was against the worn desk, staring at the bare wall to his right. College was starting in just a few days. Soon that wall would be papered with class schedules and post it notes, reminders to do this, or that, or some other thing. Just now though, there was nothing there to distract Sam from his thoughts, and the one he’d been trying to avoid was slowly but surely snaking its way to the front of his consciousness. In the three weeks since he’d finally come out to Dean, his older brother hadn’t mentioned it again, even to joke about it. More than anything else, that was a sure sign that he was not as ok with it as he’d said. 

Sam sighed, closing his eyes against the pain in his chest. Dean was the only real family he had left and he had needed his brother to be ok with it. Somehow, even if the rest of the world could care less about his homosexuality, if Dean couldn’t accept it, Sam was still a freak. But Dean had enough on his plate, and Sam couldn’t distract him from having to deal with that just because he was feeling a little insecure. He knew his brother almost as well as he knew himself. If he tried to force the issue, it might just be that last straw. No, better he should wait, at least until Dean had managed to work his way through his issues with his film. 

Having come to the decision, Sam still felt that he had only added to Dean’s burden, and at the worst possible time, too. With a grunt of disgust at himself, Sam sat straight, then stood from the desk, stretching his long legs for the first time in hours. What good would come in worrying about it really? What would happen would happen. Best thing he could do was make sure the fridge stayed full with enough booze to keep Dean from wasting all his money at overpriced bars. He reached his arms behind his back, making a face at the popping in his limbs, then headed down the hall from his room. 

It was early morning, and judging from the loud snores rumbling out of Dean’s room, his older brother had finally managed to pass out. Sam paused for a moment, looking at Dean’s door. His chest constricted again, and he frowned at the hardwood panel. There went his brain again thinking too damn much, he could almost hear Dean’s voice telling him and he agreed with it. Shaking his head he jogged down the stairs, debating between beginning the task of cleaning up or finding some secret stash of beer Dean hadn’t seen and following his brother’s footsteps, at least for the night. When he found the fridge empty of all but a carton of expired milk, he was forced to start gathering the trash. An hour in his luck turned and, leaving a mostly full bag of trash sacked up by the front door, Sam took his bottle of Crown and went back to his room.

Dean woke him bright and early the next morning, leaving Sam staring agape at the other man for several minutes as he processed Dean’s presence in his room at 8:30 on a Sunday morning. “Are… are you alright?” he asked hesitantly. 

His brother sent him a look that very clearly said ‘are you high?’ “I’m great. School this week, right?” he asked, motioning to stack of folders and the book spread open on Sam’s desk. Sam nodded and Dean grinned at him. “Right, so we need to go shopping, get some actual food in this place.” Sam almost protested, ready to tell Dean that he could handle the grocery shopping on his own, but his stomach pre-empted him, a loud grumbling filling the silence in the room. Dean’s brows lifted and his grin widened. “Take a shower,” he ordered as he left the room, “and be quick about it, bitch.”

“Jerk!” Sam yelled back automatically, but scrambled around the room searching for fresh clothes, if not clean ones. When Sam bought the groceries, he was always painfully aware that it was Dean’s money and usually settled for the cheap stuff. Dean didn’t offer to take care of groceries often, but when he went, he bought all the name brands, which tasted so much better. No way was Sam going to pass up that opportunity.

They were hardly at the grocery store for an hour when it started to crowd with people fresh out of church. Dean’s expression went from cheerful to annoyed as lines lengthened and aisles filled, limiting the movement of their mostly full cart. “Damn it, you take it,” he snarled, throwing his hands up and away from the handle bar. Sam rolled his eyes, but took over. He had more practice at this anyway. “I’m going to check out the cereal,” Dean called as he disappeared into the crowd, not even giving Sam the chance to tell him that he never ate cereal. Too much sugar, especially in the ones that Dean picked. 

Sam lifted on his toes but, having no luck at spotting Dean even then, he shrugged and aimed the cart for the vegetable aisle. As he was filing a bag with ripe tomatoes, someone bumped into him with a startled “My apologies.” It was an unusual enough way to say sorry that Sam turned to see just who had uttered it and was surprised to find he recognized the man. 

“Oh, hey, uh…” he snapped his fingers as he tried to remember three weeks and many beers back. “Castiel Novak, right?” he finally recalled, grinning broadly as the shorter man looked back to him, his intense blue eyes staying long enough on Sam’s face that he began to wonder if the man remembered him at all. Suddenly, those eyes widened and a deep flush came over the man’s face. Sam laughed as he realized that the man certainly remembered him. 

“Castiel,” a cheerful voice called over the crowd. “You’ll never guess who I just ran into…” Another man, shorter even than Castiel made his way to the blue eyed man’s side, whatever he’d been about to say lost as his light brown eyes flicked between Sam and Castiel. Then he frowned, turning to Castiel. “You got it all wrong, little brother. You’re supposed to pick up chicks at the grocery store, not this behemoth.” Dean, having found Sam cornered, chuckled at that lesson as he dropped three boxes of sugar-filled cereal into their cart, and the stranger let out laugh of delight. “Well, holy hell. It’s the sasquatch!” he cried, a grin lighting up his face as he elbowed Castiel’s side. “Oh, come on, sasquatch, you remember me,” he said, taking in Sam’s blank look as he spread his hands out at his sides. “I threw up on you!”

Castiel’s face turned four shades of embarrassment darker, Dean hunched over their cart as he struggled to keep in the laughter, and Sam just gaped at the man, who chattered on as if throwing up on a man was the best possible impression to leave someone. This was Gabriel? The drunken figure he’d helped at his brother’s insistence? He could go the rest of his life without thinking about that night and be just fine. Sam pulled at the cart, forcing his brother up and angling it further down the aisle. “Nice meeting you again,” he interrupted Gabriel, who pouted at their sudden need to leave, and nodded to Castiel, who shot him a thankful look. 

Gabriel looked as if he might follow them, but Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder and murmured something in a low tone that didn’t carry over the group of shoppers around them. Whatever it was had Gabriel shrugging. Then the man turned a brilliant smile to Dean and Sam, said “Call me next time you want to get drunk, Dean!” and waved enthusiastically before he turned to follow his brother. 

“That dude is hilarious,” Dean said, his face still red with laughter. “And I thought he was only like that because of the alcohol.”

“That guy is a pain,” Sam disagreed, frowning as he watched the brothers turn a corner. Then he turned back to picking out his vegetables. “Did you really get his phone number?” 

Dean was still looking after them though, and apparently hadn’t heard his brother. His voice had taken a note of seriousness as he murmured, so low Sam might not have heard if he hadn’t been listening for a reply, “That Castiel, though. His eyes, right?” 

Sam looked to his brother, brows furrowed. “What?” he asked, not sure he’d heard what he thought. Dean turned to him, face a mask of innocence that would have fooled anyone else. “What was that, about Castiel’s eyes?” he clarified, flapping open another bag for the head of lettuce he’d selected. 

“Nothing,” Dean shrugged, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “Just, he’s super serious, isn’t he? Didn’t even crack a grin,” he finished, turning his attention to a trim young mother pushing a giggling toddler in a pink stroller. The man who followed immediately after sent Dean a scowl, which he ignored, typical Dean.

Sam made some noise of assent and turned back to gathering his salad fixings. Personally, he thought Castiel’s eyes were gorgeous, and the man himself quite the looker. But, having only the night before decided not to pressure Dean into accepting him, Sam said nothing and focused instead on keeping Dean from loading the cart with too much junk food. He knew he lost that battle as soon as they rounded the corner into the frozen pie aisle.


	9. Lessons and Learning, and why School is Fun

The early morning sun washed the world in faded light, the birds tweeting from the trees lining either side of the street. Only the occasional car passing ruined the peace of the moment, but Gabriel stayed still, arms spread across the top of the bus stop bench with his head resting back and his eyes closed. He breathed in deeply, holding that air in for a moment before letting it out with a smile curling the edges of his lips. He’d never admit it out loud, might even flat deny it should anyone ask just to be obstinate, but he loved the campus grounds. The smell of cut grass, the sun beating on the old brick and cinderblock buildings, and the passing conversations of students as they wandered between classes, all of it appealed to him, gave him a sense of peace he couldn’t find anywhere else. 

He took a few more deep breaths as he thought on the day to come. Scheduling had been cruel this semester, probably having something to do with his brief affair with the dean’s secretary. All three of his courses started before noon, two of them right at eight. At least he was still allowed to set his own office hours, which Gabriel kept at the much more reasonable time of two in the afternoon and as soon as five came around, his day would officially be over. Which he supposed made him luckier than those teachers who had taken on the evening classes this go ‘round. Poor bastards. At least he still had the option of a few drinks before bed.

The alarm on his cell buzzed in the pocket of his light leather jacket, indicating 7:40, and he let out an annoyed huff of breath. He could sit here for a while longer he supposed, but better to begin the slow walk to the classroom. He would hate to miss the opportunity the first day of school presented, with so many fresh students unaware that a professor walked among them. So he pushed off the bench, stretched his arms above his head then stuck his hands in his pockets, whistling low and tunelessly as he meandered across campus. 

He’d only taken a few dozen steps before he spotted a familiar face and he grinned. “Sasquatch!” he yelled, hurrying forward to fall into pace with him. 

The taller man looked around quickly then faced Gabriel. “Are you talking to me?” he asked, his brows knit together and his steps faltering.

Gabriel laughed. “You see any other freakishly tall individuals around here, Sasquatch?” He’d have to be blind to miss the look of annoyance that crossed the man’s face then and his grin widened. 

“I didn’t realize you came here,” the man said sourly, adjusting his backpack strap higher on his shoulder and his fingers ticking with agitation. 

The shorter man took it all in, including the fact that as soon as they resumed their walk, the Sasquatch lengthened his paces in an attempt to leave Gabriel behind. “Aw, Sasquatch, what’s the deal?” he whined, though he knew his grin was still firmly in place. “I throw up on you once and suddenly I’m not good company?”

He drew up short when the man stopped suddenly, spinning on his heel to glower down at Gabriel from his full height. “My name is Sam. Alright. Not Sasquatch. Sam.”

“How about Sammy?” Gabriel interrupted with one of his more winning smiles. 

The man shook his head, his bangs falling against his brow at the movement. “Not Sammy. Not Sasquatch. Just Sam. Or from you, nothing.” He started to walk away then, pulling open the door to the building with a little more force than was strictly necessary. 

Gabriel followed the man inside, forgetting for the moment his plans to move unnoticed by the students. This guy was more fun. And what luck! His class was in the same building as Gabriel’s. Strike, that, he thought as they passed the stairs leading up. They were on the same floor. Gabriel could see a semester of mornings pestering this guy. Out loud, he called, “Aw, now, Sasquatch. I don’t think you’re nothing.”

Sam stopped again then, his shoulders rising as he took what Gabriel hoped was a calming breath, before the man turned, pinning him again with that hazel glare. “I don’t want you to call me anything because I’d rather have nothing to do with you. I try not to hang out with guys who think it is okay to puke on people.”

Gabriel threw his hands up. “Hey, I apologized for that. A few times I think…” he trailed off as he saw Sam reach for the handle of the classroom door marked D109. “Is this your class?” he asked, pulling on the man’s backpack to keep him from going in. A pair of girls walked around them and pulled the door open, entering without sparing either man a glance.

Sam pulled away, rolling his eyes and adjusting his pack again. “Yes.” He reached for the door again, forcing a smile as another group of students entered before him.

Gabriel ignored them, keeping his face carefully straight and nodding. “And is it what you would call a required course?” 

“It is for Sociology majors,” Sam snapped, glancing down at his watch. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d rather not be late on the first day.”

“I have to tell you something, Sammy,” Gabriel announced, clapping a hand on the taller man’s shoulder and ignoring his concern about tardiness. Sam’s face was stuck somewhere between annoyance at the nickname and curiosity. Gabriel could practically hear the thoughts- what could you possibly have to say to me? His phone vibrated again in his pocket, the second alarm set for just a few minutes before class was scheduled to start. Gabriel motioned Sam to lean down a bit, and his curiosity must have won out because the other man grudgingly complied. Keeping his voice low, because everything sounded more mysterious and foreboding when spoken in a whisper, Gabriel told him, “Things are going to get real awkward for you in about three minutes.”

“Right,” Sam scoffed, shaking his head as if scolding himself for thinking Gabriel might have something useful to say. “Excuse me,” he said, brushing Gabriel’s hand from his shoulder and finally entering the room. 

Gabriel grinned as the door closed with the heavy thud that only doors in colleges seemed to have. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched the minutes tick by. At 8 o’clock on the dot, he slipped his phone back into his pocket and threw open the classroom door, striding in like he owned the room, because hey. For all intents and purposes, he did. “Good morning class, and welcome to History of World Religions. If that’s not what you signed up for, you’re in the wrong room, so get out,” he said, grabbing a marker and scrawling the course name on the white board. “I’m Mr. Novak,” he continued, grin widening when he turned to find Sammy half out of his desk, face slack with shock. “Have a seat, Sasquatch. We can talk after class.” As he continued with his course description and synopsis, he watched Sam slip back into his desk, hunched over as if to draw as little attention to himself as possible. It was all Gabriel could do not to laugh at the sight. Ungodly early or not, this semester just got awesome, he decided.


	10. A Brother's Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I may have taken liberties with Raphael...

Castiel allowed himself a small smile as he settled back in the break room of the public library Monday afternoon. The smell of books and the hush atmosphere always calmed his nerves, and after the past weekend, he needed the break from his brother. Gabriel had attended a week’s worth of meetings in preparation for the first day of school, and had insisted on spending his last weekend “as a free man” as wildly as legally possible outside of Vegas. Castiel had managed to pull the man to church that Sunday, a first, but Gabriel managed to muck that up as well. Bad enough that he refused to read from the hymn book when the time came to lift their voices in song to praise the Lord, but he made up his own words, many of them not… child-friendly. It would be a long time before Castiel invited his brother back to church and at least as long before he would get over his embarrassment enough to reclaim his aisle seat on the front pew. Then to have the misfortune of running into Sammy and Dean immediately thereafter? Yes, Castiel was very happy to return to the comforting atmosphere of work. 

His lunch break was almost over and Castiel stood from the table, running a hand through his hair and straightening his tie in the small mirror on the wall to the right of the door. It opened just as he was reaching for it, and his co-worker Rafaela Ware paused just inside the room. She quickly schooled the surprise from her face to offer him the wide smile that helped to make her popular as the children’s librarian. “There is a man at the front desk asking for you specifically, Castiel,” she told him, and reached up to smooth stray hairs into her ponytail. “And if he asks, I’m single. Just saying,” she finished with a shrug and turned from him, walking across the room to the small fridge that held employee lunches.

“Thank you,” he replied, trying not to look too confused at the news, and slipped through the door. Anyone who might visit him at work, namely Gabriel, had already been explained the importance of maintaining a professional image. He couldn’t imagine who else might bother. Even with his back to him, Castiel recognized the man who stood a few feet from the desk, holding himself carefully apart from everything and everyone else, as if one touch might contaminate. “Hello, Michael,” Castiel greeted his brother cautiously. An investment banker, Michael Novak rarely left the city and never to visit his brothers, both of whom he believed had left the fold. That he was standing in the entrance of the library Castiel worked in was not a good sign.

“Castiel,” his brother replied, neither his voice nor his blue eyes revealing any of the warmth one might expect between brothers. “We need to talk. Privately,” he clarified, his gaze darting about the near empty room.

He wanted to tell his brother that he was at work, and this issue, whatever it was, would have to wait. Perhaps even say that Michael should call him later that night. But this was Michael, his eldest brother and the head of their family, who had raised him since his fifth year. Even now, a man full grown, Castiel could still feel the pressure to simply do as Michael ordered. So with a nod, he followed the man from the library, arms and hands held carefully still so as not to betray the nervousness that still thrummed through him around his older brother. 

Michael wasted no time for small talk. As soon as he and Castiel were alone in the small garden behind the library, he turned and pinned the shorter man with his icy glare. “I understand that you have taken Gabriel into your home.”

Castiel didn’t bother asking how he knew. Somehow, Michael always knew. He frowned though, at the stark disapproval radiating in the words and in his brother’s stance. “Yes, of course. Gabriel is…”

Michael would not let him finish, his words cutting through Castiel’s confirmation. “Gabriel is reaping the results of his misdeeds. Accepting him into your home will only bring you misfortune, and teach him that there is always someone else to take responsibility for him.”

Castiel stared at his brother in shock. Michael was not Gabriel, so he knew for fact that he was serious in his reprimand. “Do you…” he paused, almost afraid of the reply he would be given. “Do you suggest I leave our brother alone in his time of need?” Castiel held his breath. Surely, even Michael could not be so cold-hearted. Gabriel was family, no matter his actions. It was not their place to judge.

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “It is my understanding that Gabriel is still employed. He is hardly helpless. If you carry the weight of those who might carry their own, you will fall.” It was the same lesson Michael had tried so often to teach Castiel as he grew, and was one that he simply could not accept. “Send him away, before his actions bring God’s wrath upon you.” His brother’s gaze softened slightly, and he placed an unusually gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “He is our brother, and I know you want to love him for that alone. But even your church must draw a line to hold against the sinners.”

Michael was rigid in his belief, that so many fell short of faith. But Castiel believed that every man had value in God’s eyes, even the unrepentant sinners. In his whole life, Castiel had only once defied his brother, and even now he marked it as one of the finest decisions in his thirty years. It was still a terrifying thought that he would have to do it again, but he knew, in the heart of his soul, that his brother was wrong. “Gabriel is our brother, Michael. I will always be there for him, and for you.”

His attempt to soften his disagreement with Michael went unnoticed, and his brother’s hand dropped from his shoulder to curl into a fist at his side. Castiel knew the man was not often contradicted, but he held firm despite the anger snapping in his brother’s eyes, anger that did not otherwise show on his face and so was all the more terrifying. “Do you condone his actions, then?” 

“Of course not,” Castiel answered immediately and continued before Michael had the chance to interrupt, “But it is not my place to decide if those actions make him unworthy. He is still my brother and he still needs me. This could be an opportunity for him to regain his faith. Not as a Catholic or even a Methodist, but as a Christian, should we not do everything we can restore that?”

“Gabriel is a lost cause,” Michael snapped so fiercely that Castiel stepped back. “And I see now that you are, as well.” It was like a slap to the face, but Michael did not stand by to see the results of his words, turning with military precision and stalking away. 

His lunch break was well over and the library was expecting an afternoon visit of students from a private school with which Rafaela would need assistance. There were half a dozen things beside he still need to take care of before he might call his day finished, but just now, Castiel couldn’t think on any of them. He took the few steps to the bench and sank down. For so many years, Castiel had engineered his every action with the goal of gaining his brother’s approval. When he’d switched churches, he accepted that he never would, but to be called a lost cause by the only father figure he had ever really known shattered the last bit of hope he still held. Folding his hands together, Castiel bowed his head, praying for the strength to act normally through his work, praying that Gabriel would not prove the lost cause Michael had declared him, and mostly praying for Michael, because his brother needed it, even if he didn’t believe it.


	11. Visiting the Folks

Dean’s cell vibrated in his pocket, the sharp beats of Sammy’s ringtone muffled by the heavy denim of his jeans. He ignored it, as he had each of the six times before. It was Saturday night and the sun had already set on a world Dean had decided too fucked up for even drinking to fix. He made his way across the cemetery, weaving between headstones in the last bit of light before full dark came upon him, a mismatched collection of hastily gathered late summer flowers in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. He didn’t need to see to know when he’d reached his parents’ graves; he knew the place by heart, though he usually avoided it. Cemeteries were not his thing, at least not at any other time. But at rare moments like this, when he felt on the very edge of giving up, he found his way back. 

“Hi, Mom,” he greeted her softly, setting the flowers with care at the edge of her headstone. He let his fingers trace the flowing script. Mary Winchester, beloved wife and mother. The words held nothing of the beautiful and feisty woman she had been and so could never really do her justice. Some things were hard to fit on a single stone block. 

He let his hand fall away and shuffled the few feet to the next headstone. Smaller and less worn with the passage of time than his mother’s stone, the bold lettering still stood in stark contrast on the dark granite. John Winchester. Just a name and the date. It was all Dean had been able to afford, but he’d always figured his Dad would have preferred it kept simple. He settled himself on the grass next to the stone, leaning his shoulder against it as he let his legs stretch off to the side. “Hey, dad,” he finally greeted his father. “It’s been a few years, I know. Sammy’s doing great. Graduates this year, with honors probably,” he said, pulling open his Jack and taking a swig. “Don’t expect any grandkids from him though. He told me, get this, he’s gay.” Dean could picture the look of shock on his father’s face and felt the shame wash over him again. “I can’t figure out where I went wrong. He’s says it’s not because of the porn, but I don’t know…”

Dean took another drink, letting the whiskey burn down his throat. “It’s not even that he’s gay, Dad, not all of it anyway. It’s just… I didn’t have a freaking clue. There’s this whole side of him that I never knew existed.” Really, that was what hurt the most. He was supposed to look after Sammy, to take care of him, and the whole time his brother was keeping this from him. There was a gap between them that he’d never known was there, and now that he did, it just kept growing. He knew it was his fault, that he should just let go and trust that Sam was doing what was right for himself. But he couldn’t, and it made things at home uncomfortable.

“Work is worse,” he admitted. They were four weeks into work on the film and they might as well have had a thousand left. Ruby Cortese seemed determined to piss Dean off at every opportunity. And when it was as simple as the bitch lifting a single brow in his direction, it made for a very tense atmosphere. Even those days when he was fortunate enough not to see the brunette, he couldn’t forget about her. Jo and Amy tried to talk with him like old friends, and Dean tried to follow the same flirty routine he used on waitresses and bartenders, but it was difficult. The girls grew up with him and Sammy. Jo had been just down the road for the better part of his childhood. “I haven’t told Ellen yet, and I don’t think Jo has either. Least, I haven’t heard anything from her or Bobby. Wouldn’t even know what the hell I’d say.” 

He tipped the bottle up and swallowed more of his liquor, pleased at the slight tingling that came to his fingers. “That bitch Bela keeps looking at me like she’s got some plan and Tessa…” he shook his head. “She’s just being Tessa, but that’s enough to make any man miserable.” He let out a bitter laugh. “The worst part is I wasn’t going to quit. Contract’s up in a few months and I was going to make Lisa renew it. Hell, the money ain’t bad for the time it takes, and there are worse things I could be doing. I’ve even won a few awards. But now, I can’t wait to get the fuck out of there.” And he really couldn’t. He and Lisa talked so big about his holding strong and for the last week, all he could think about was breaking his contract and high-tailing it back home. Sammy was the only reason he’d held out for as long as he had, and with their relationship so strained, Dean wasn’t sure how much longer that would keep him in check. “I just… don’t know what to do, Dad,” he confessed, his voice a harsh whisper. He’d thought he was stronger. “I wish you were here.” He let his head fall against the stone, the neck of the bottle clenched in his hand as he let the peace and silence of the cemetery calm his raw nerves.

It was several minutes before he heard it, before his heart slowed enough that the soft humming carrying on the breeze could reach his ears, and he listened to it, trying to place the familiar tune. Amazing Grace. Someone else was out there in the cemetery, in the dark, humming “Amazing Grace”. The sweet tune gave way to soft words, and Dean listened in silence for a moment. Then he pushed himself up, using his father’s stone as support, and quietly made his way through the dark towards the low voice. A few crooked rows back and a mere two stones over, in the newer section of the cemetery, Dean found the source.

The headstone was large, the carved image of an angel gleaming in the dim light of a moon only just beginning to rise. A young tree rose up nearby, just inside the low stone border that marked a family plot and a figure knelt in the dark, his long coat spread behind him as he leaned forward. After a few moments of watching silently, Dean realized the man was pulling weeds from a plant growing at the base of the stone, white flowers almost glowing in the dark. There was something familiar about the set of the man’s shoulders, and Dean listened as he sang another verse. There was definitely something familiar about that voice. 

Sammy’s chose that moment to try and call him again. Even through his pocket, the ringtone sounded loud and grating after the smooth hymn, and Dean hastily pulled out his phone to hit the ignore button. Well, there was no way the man hadn’t heard that. Dean tried to think of a reasonable excuse for standing in the dark watching some guy in the middle of the cemetery. He couldn’t, but he chanced a glance up anyway, his lips curling into a grin of relief when he realized he knew the man. Somehow, he felt less like a creeper. And it made the awkwardness of the situation easier to play off. Lifting the hand still holding his phone, Dean gave the man a wave. “Hey, Castiel,” he greeted the man, moving from the shadows enough that the moon, however dim, might illuminate his face enough for the other man to recognize him.

For several minutes, the man looked at him in silence. “Good evening, Dean,” came his low reply, and Castiel sat back on his feet, seemingly careless of the dirt and bits of grass clinging to his slacks. “I apologize for disturbing you,” Castiel told him after several moments of silence. “It is rare for anyone else to be here so late.”

Dean waved off the apologies. He was the one who’d shown up and listened in like a stalker. “No worries. I was just…having a drink with my dad,” he finished, holding up the partially empty bottle. 

“Ah,” Castiel murmured, and even in the dark, Dean knew the man was watching him with pity in those striking eyes. He cleared his throat, slipping his phone back into his pocket with one hand as the fingers of the other toyed with the lip of the bottle. “I was singing to my mother,” Castiel finally told him, motioning with one hand to the angel headstone, then brushing his fingers over the glowing blossoms.

Dean edged closer. Maybe because he’d first heard it when he’d been drunk, but Castiel’s voice was soothing and he wondered briefly if he could get the other man to keep talking. “Amazing Grace,” right?” he asked, near enough then to see the smile that curved Castiel mouth. He hid his surprise. Just because he’d never seen the fellow smile before, even with that crack-up of a brother, didn’t mean he couldn’t.

“Yes,” Castiel spoke, his words pulling Dean from his thoughts, “it was my mother’s favorite. She would sing it to me when I woke with bad dreams. ‘Twas grace that taught me how to fear and Grace, my fears relieved,” he sang softly, leaning forward to pull out a few more weeds. Dean listened as Castiel continued humming. Then the man stood, pausing for a moment with one hand atop the stone and his eyes closed, lips moving silently. “Thank you,” he told Dean, and Dean lifted a brow in question. “My mother passed on when I was five. I come to visit every so often, but this is the first time I am not pained by it. I must believe it is due to your presence. You have a very calming air about you.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted to his hair. He’d never been called a calming influence before. A generally negative one, even a strong one, but never calming. He smiled back, falling into step with Castiel as the man moved to the pebbled path leading back to the cemetery entrance. “My mother died when I was young, too,” he confessed, and the other man nodded, his smile turning sad. “She used to sing me to sleep with ‘Hey, Jude,’” he laughed, and was pleased when Castiel joined him. As they passed his parents’ stones, Dean lifted his bottle and took a long drink of the burning liquor.

Castiel’s eyes were on him again. He could feel it, like the man could look straight to his soul with only a glance, and then the feeling was gone as Castiel looked ahead again. “It may not be my place to say,” Castiel began, his soft voice sounding almost hesitant now, “but you seem to be drinking in excess. Perhaps there is something wrong?”

It was an invitation, pretty clear actually, to talk over whatever issues he might have had. Dean snorted softly. Chick flick stuff. The guy was probably as bad as Sammy, and if he wasn’t going to go to his brother, there was no way he would talk to a stranger. “Thanks,” he said aloud, “but that’s what the alcohol is for. Uncle Bobby always says, just because it kills your liver doesn’t mean it ain’t medicine.” He took another drink.

Castiel nodded, seeming to not be offended. Dean was grateful for it. He supposed there were enough people he could offend pretty easily without adding one more. “I am not a doctor, but that does not seem healthy,” he said, and Dean grinned his agreement. He didn’t say that it made no difference. Drinking made things at least appear better, if only for a while. They reached the edge of the path, the large wrought iron gates open to the mostly empty parking lot, and Castiel turned to him. “Thank you again,” the shorter man said, fumbling in the pockets of his trench coat. “Should you decide to try a different sort of medicine, please come talk to me.” Castiel pulled a card from his pocket and, glancing at it quickly as if to make sure he’d gotten the right one, he handed it to Dean. “Of course, I’m sure my brother is still available if you choose to continue your current therapy,” he finished with a wry smile. Then with a slight nod in farewell, Castiel turned and strode away.

Dean watched him get into a light colored sedan and drive away before heading to his Impala, pulling the bottle’s lid from his pocket to close it. No point in wasting good whiskey. Once inside his car, he set his bottle on the floorboard and used the light from his phone to read the card. Then he looked back up at the taillights turning the corner at the end of the road. Castiel Novak, Librarian. He tossed the card and his phone to the passenger seat before heading home himself. The night was young, his problems weren’t gone, and he hadn’t had near enough to drink to even pretend they were, but for the first time in a month, Dean wasn’t thinking about them. He was too busy thinking about those intense eyes on his. If Castiel Novak could look into his soul, what would he see?


	12. I was born to Direct

“Cut!” yelled Fergus Crowley, his tone sharp as he waved his assistant away and stood from his chair. “Let’s take fifteen.” Dean let out a sigh of relief and stepped back from Meg and Ruby. They’d been working on this scene alone for half the day, and right now he couldn’t find it in himself to care that Crowley was obviously disgusted with his performance. Meg slapped his ass as she passed by, winking at him, and Ruby laughed as she followed. Dean had heard somewhere that people didn’t quit jobs, they quit people. Both women seemed determined to prove it true, and the pain from the knot of stress that had settled just under his left shoulder served a constant reminder, as if he’d needed one, that he was not among friends.

They were shooting on location today, which meant their set was actually some fancy house Dean was sure no ordinary housewife would be running without a maid or two to back her up. Both women were heading for the catering table in the spacious kitchen so even though Dean was hungry, he wasn’t going near it. Instead, he walked the opposite way, passing Crowley as the man argued with the writer. Chuck Shurley was a mild-mannered fellow on a normal day. But with Crowley in his face and short his six glasses of alcohol, the man was guaranteed to cave to whatever it was the director wanted. In Dean’s experience, it usually wasn’t good. Crowley’s rewrites might be some of the most popular scenes in any movie he directed, but the man seemed to take personal pleasure in making Dean uncomfortable, and somehow knew just exactly how to do it. The bastard. 

Garth was in his folding chair, thin legs crossed as he chatted up one of the make-up girls. She scurried off as Dean approached, and Garth turned to face him, his mouth turned up in that silly grin. “Now, buddy, there’s no point in mean-mugging the innocents,” he scolded Dean, waving a hand in the chick’s direction. 

Dean barely spared him a glance as he snorted and settled himself into his own chair. He grabbed the bottle of water from the tall table beside him and watched the on-going discussion between Chuck and Crowley. Even from across the living room of the house they were calling ‘the set’, Dean could see Chuck sweating, his hands twisting nervously on his copy of the script. Dean gave the man another two minutes before Crowley got his way. Crowley always got his way. “I’m noticing some tension between you and Ruby,” Garth said, the first of his incessant chatter to break through to Dean, and he turned a glare on the other man, a clear warning to mind his own business that went unheeded. “Got the gossip mills running non-stop trying to figure out what happened between you two. All kinds of rumors, like maybe she’s the mother of your –“

“Garth,” Dean snapped, and Garth turned a too innocent look towards him, “shut up.” The other actor grinned and started to say something more, but a glance over Dean’s shoulder had him clamming up. He grabbed his own water bottle and clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, before hopping down from his chair and strolling to the kitchen and the array of food it offered. Dean shifted to watch him go, his momentary confusion clearing when he saw Crowley headed his way. Fifteen minute break, and poor Chuck had taken up four, leaving Crowley with fully eleven minutes to rip Dean a new one. Dean took another swig of water, wishing as he had at least a dozen times already that the bottle held something stronger. Like vodka.

Crowley gave him a tight smile as he approached, and it said something about the month that Dean had had that he couldn’t even muster up a simple one in return. He had to save all his acting for the damn camera. Crowley didn’t seem to notice though, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks and rocking back on his heels. “Well, Dean, will you be offering excuses for that abysmal performance, then?” he drawled, that damn accent of his grating on Dean’s nerves. Dean took in a deep breath, leaned back in his chair, tried to ignore the headache he could feel growing at the base of his skull, and finally shook his head to the negative. “Just as well,” Crowley told him, turning his head as he scanned over ‘the set’, actors chatting and the small crew scurrying to reset the foyer scene. “Your excuses are almost as painful as those last few takes. So, let’s get your head out of that shapely ass and possibly film something worth keeping. Right,” he snapped when Dean only stared at the man in shock- shapely ass?- so the younger man jerked his head in a nod. “Right. You’ll get the new pages in a few hours. We’ve taken Meg out of the scene. She didn’t have any lines so it shouldn’t be too much of an adjustment, even for you.” 

Dean sat straight then, brows knit together in confusion as his hand tightened reflexively on his water bottle. “Meg is out?” he managed.

Crowley turned his wandering attention back to Dean, taking in his tense posture. Then he gave the same tight smile he did each and every time Dean did something to annoy him, though he sensed that this time it wasn’t directed to him. “Oh, don’t get too excited. She’s not completely out,” he spat, and Dean thought he could hear something close to hatred in that clipped tone. “We’ve simply adjusted the definition of her character.” 

Dean shook his head as he shifted back into his chair. He’d say the man might have missed his calling, and could have been an amazing lawyer with that ability to qualify any statement, he figured, watching Crowley walk away and bark orders to his crew, but anyone seeing his multiple awards for ‘Best Director’ from the Adult Film Association would have begged otherwise. 

Tension still ached behind his shoulder, his headache had gotten a bit bigger during his short conversation with Crowley, and he was still wound up tighter than an eight-year-old’s toy car, but he let out a small sigh of relief. One bitch at a time, he could handle no problem. So when Crowley called for the actors to take their places, Dean was able to school his face to a decidedly more natural expression than he’d managed all day.

The scene itself should never have been so difficult to get through, just a few minutes of Ruby flirting and dropping hints that the hunter he was playing wouldn’t pick up on until much later. Dean flirted back, moving so he was only inches from the woman. He almost expected Crowley to yell to cut the scene again, and was relieved when he didn’t. “Agent Ford,” Garth called as he rounded the corner from the next room, where his character had supposedly been searching for some sign of witchcraft, and tipped his head to the front door. 

“Leaving so soon?” Ruby teased, letting her fingers trail up his arm and she leaned up, her lips just a breath from his. 

“You heard Agent Hamill,” he murmured, jerking his head towards Garth when the other actor called him again. Then he stepped back from the woman, feeling her eyes on him as he walked to Garth. They turned back before leaving the scene and Dean nodded to her once. “We’ll be in touch,” he said the line, trying to inject it with as much promise as he figured would satisfy Crowley. She gave him a sexy smile and he followed Garth out the door. 

Then, curious about the changes Crowley had made, he brushed away the assistants who rushed to him and Garth in favor of watching the rest of the scene play out. He walked towards Crowley and Chuck as Ruby half turned from the door, the smile fading and her dark gaze shifting to the far side of the room. A door opened and Meg leaned against it, a wicked smile curving her plush lips. “I’ll handle Agent Ford,” Ruby told her, “Hamill is yours.” Meg nodded slowly and Crowley cut the scene.   
Dean figured it wasn’t one of his better changes until he overheard Crowley instructing the editor to cut the top half of Meg’s face from the scene, leaving her identity a mystery. He looked to Chuck questioningly. The man shrugged, wiping the sleeve of his shirt across his brow before scribbling more changes into his own copy of the script. “He plans on keeping the fact that Julia is in the coven a secret until the end. He says it will make the trap scene more believable.” 

He nodded, looking back to where Meg and Ruby were talking softly with Crowley. The conversation obviously didn’t hold much interest to him and his bored expression made Dean grin. Sure Crowley hated his guts, but the man didn’t seem to hold any more affection for either of the women talking to him. He couldn’t say his life to this point had been lucky exactly, but could be that he had just enough to keep Meg and Ruby too busy with the director to mess with him. He crossed his fingers and tossed an empty salt packet from Chuck’s table over his shoulder just for good measure. Then, ignoring both the strange look the writer gave him and Garth trying to get his attention, he headed for the kitchen and picked through the trays of sandwiches, silently reviewing his lines for the next scene Crowley planned on shooting today. With enough focus, he might make it out of this hellhole a few hours early.


	13. A Lesson From Gabriel

Gabriel looked at his stack of pancakes and licked his lips, contemplating his best plan of attack. With three options of syrup, that so far had been the hardest decision of the morning. Finally, he just eenie-meenie-minie-moe’d it and picked up the maple. His companion made a choking sound as he drowned his breakfast in the thick goo. “Don’t you think that’s enough?” Sam Winchester asked, his hand moving his cup of coffee further away, as if Gabriel might choose to douse that too.

Gabriel just held up his fork as he continued pouring. “These cakes are the Titanic, this syrup is the ocean, and that’s why this is going to be an awesome movie,” he explained, finally putting down the now half-empty bottle. “Not because of some over-hyped teenie-bopper’s wet dream.”

“Titanic was an awesome movie?” Sam asked doubtfully, and Gabriel only grinned at him before taking his first forkful of heavenly goodness. 

He moaned and closed his eyes against the barrage of flavors, sweet and buttery and so much better than any simple flapjack he’d ever before sampled. “Oh, Sasquatch, how did you find this place?” he asked, not really caring about the answer as much as he did his next bite. It was so difficult for every bit of a meal to live up to the first taste, but these pancakes! Gabriel wondered how many mornings he could eat them before he got too fat for his clothes. The next bite almost convinced him it would be worth a new wardrobe. 

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly, lifting his mug for a drink as his gaze swept uneasily around the near empty diner. “Are you sure it’s okay to be here together?” he asked and set the cup down. His fingers drummed a nervous beat against the worn Formica table and he visibly flinched when the bell over the door dinged, announcing a new customer.

Gabriel shrugged, pushing his fork to cut through the short stack. “You’re the one who insisted you needed to make amends for the dunderheaded way you treated your super amazing professor.”

“Clearly your words, not mine,” Sam interjected and lifted his mug for another swallow of his coffee. 

Gabriel only shrugged again before returning his attention to his pancakes. “That’s not important. These pancakes, these are…” 

“You!” The screech came from across the room, just near the register, and sounded familiar enough that Gabriel couldn’t doubt that the voice had meant him. Sam’s brows furrowed, his face a mix of confusion and embarrassment underlined with a clear desire to escape from whatever was headed their way. 

Gabriel leaned forward, fork still in hand and asked softly, “What did you say this place was called?”

A moment passed before Sam looked at him, and another before he could answer, “The Hunter’s Rest.” Sam looked back up, his gaze hanging just above Gabriel’s shoulder. 

“Yup,” Gabriel nodded. It made sense then. The older man saw Sam’s eyes widen and took in the way he straightened up, leaning further back into his chair as if that might help him get away. He judged that he had less than a minute to try and defuse the situation he knew was coming. So Gabriel dropped his fork, pulled his best grin, no matter that it hadn’t worked for shit last time, and in one smooth motion that came from years of practice and just generally being awesome, he stood and turned. “Babe!” he greeted Anna Milton with his arms spread, though he knew she wouldn’t step in for the hug. 

“Don’t ‘babe’ me, you sleaze,” she snarled, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder as she glowered, stopping just a few paces from his table. “I thought it was pretty clear that I never wanted to see you again.” She threw a hand up to indicate the diner, a black apron clenched in her fist. 

Gabriel let his hands fall, and pouted. “Aw, come on, sweetheart, are you still mad about that?” He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. “It’s been a whole month,” he pointed out rationally.

Anna’s cheeks, already pinked with anger, flushed even more red, and her eyes flashed. “We were together for three years, Gabriel,” she snapped, “and you cheated on me for two of them. At least!” She let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. “It wouldn’t surprise me if it had been all three actually. So if you honestly think I’m going to take you back then-“

He could hear Anna working up the anger again so he quickly jumped in. “Breakfast,” he said, and could swear he almost saw her train of thought screeching to a halt. The anger still rose high in her cheeks, but with any luck he wouldn’t have to listen to another tirade. And Gabriel knew how to make his own luck. Usually. “I’m here having breakfast with a friend.” He stepped to the side, for the first time allowing Anna a clear view of his companion. Sam gave a weak smile and a half-hearted wave. “And we’re even paying,” Gabriel pointed out, before Anna could say anything further. “Doesn’t that mean you have to be nice to us?” 

It might not have been the best thing to say under the circumstances, though Gabriel knew it certainly wasn’t the worst, and red flooded up through Anna’s whole face. But she turned and stalked away, shoulders trembling and back stiff as she disappeared into the kitchen. Gabriel gave a careless smile to the room at large and slid back into his seat. “That… was mortifying,” Sam muttered, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the shame.

“Really?” Gabriel asked, brows raised as he picked up his fork. “Worse than when I puked on you?” He took another bite of his pancakes, ignoring Sam’s glare as he lost himself in the flavor again. “Worse than when you insulted your teacher on the first day of school?”

Sam snorted. “You weren’t even offended, so don’t pretend now.”

“And yet, here we are,” Gabriel said, using the fork to indicate the whole diner before setting it to much better use polishing off his breakfast.

Sam took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Gabriel listened as he did, pleased that he could so easily annoy the other man. Castiel tended to keep his emotions more in check and so was less fun to tease. Sam though, every bit of anger, embarrassment and annoyance was etched across the kid’s face, which made him just as good, if not better, to mess with than his brother. “Yes. Here we are. Why here, of all places? You had to know she’d be here.”

Gabriel paused in his meal, part to make what looked to be his last bite last a bit longer. “Why would I have to know?” he asked, tipping his head a bit as he looked at Sam. 

Sam stared at him for a minute, then his brows lifted in surprise. “R-really?” he stammered. “I mean, you were with her for three years, right? That seems like the sort of thing you would know about your girlfriend, even if you did cheat on her for most of your relationship.” Shaking his head, Gabriel finished the last of his pancakes. He thought about ordering more, but he couldn’t trust the food coming out of the kitchen now, not when Anna had yet to make her reappearance. “Why the head shaking?” Sam asked, subconsciously mimicking the movement. “You think you shouldn’t know anything about the person you’re with?”

Gabriel shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he pulled his eyes from the syrup to meet Sam’s hazel gaze. “Sasquatch, you don’t have to know shit about anyone to be with them. Hell, I’m with you right now and besides your name, I know just two things about you. That you’re in college, and that your brother is a fantastic drinking buddy.” He grinned at the other man.

Sam rolled his eyes. “I meant together with somebody, like boyfriend and girlfriend. Besides, one of your facts about me is actually about my brother,” he pointed out, and waved over a waitress for a refill on his coffee. 

Gabriel put a hand over the cup, smiling at the woman as he told her, “He changed his mind.” He ignored Sam’s protests until the woman shrugged and walked away, using the moment to check out her backyard before turning his attention back to his companion. “You, my friend, are guilty by association. I wouldn’t order anything else today, just to be safe.”

“So I can’t have coffee because you cheated on your girlfriend?” Sam clarified, and threw his hands up at Gabriel’s nod of confirmation. The older man grinned as he recognized what Dean had called ‘the bitchface.’ 

“Technically,” Gabriel started, removing his hand from the mug and twirling a finger through his syrup, “I never cheated on her.” He lifted his finger and sucked of the syrup as he met Sam’s disbelieving gaze.

“Really?” Sam asked, one brow hitching just higher than the other. Gabriel nodded, swiping his finger through the syrup again and licking it off. “She seemed to think you did.”

“Well, obviously,” Gabriel replied, shrugging slightly, “but I can’t help what she thinks. At best, she was only level nine, and it’s not cheating until you hit level ten.”

He concentrated on wiping off the rest of his syrup, wishing he could trust the woman not to mess with his food enough that he could get more pancakes. Ah, well, he’d just have to wait another day. “Alright,” Sam finally said, and Gabriel looked up, “I’ll bite. What are you talking about?”

Gabriel let out a mock gasp. “Oh, dear little Sammy-kins! Don’t tell me your brother never taught you about the birds and the bees! Well, you see, when two people meet and decide they want to get it on-“

“Stop!” Sam interrupted a little too loudly, and Gabriel grinned as he shushed the clearly embarrassed man. “Just stop there. I’m not asking about… about that,” he stammered, his voice low and his cheeks flushing as he stumbled over the words. “I know all that, I’m not a virgin.”

Gabriel let out a startled gasp, clapping a hand over his chest. “Mr. Winchester! That is a highly inappropriate topic to be discussing with your teacher!” he cried, struggling to keep his face straight as Sam’s flush spread down his neck and he stuttered even more.

Finally, Sam managed to force a few words past his embarrassment. “I meant the levels!” he stressed, and covered his face with one hand. “I just meant, what levels are you talking about, you ass?” he mumbled through his hand.

Gabriel ‘s grin widened and he sat back in his chair, his finger playing idly with the end of his fork. “Well, I am your teacher. Might as well give you a lesson on something that will help in the real world.” Sam peeked through his fingers at him, as if trying to decide if he was finally being serious. “See, Sasquatch, there are ten levels to being in that sort of relationship. Level one is that awkward sort of obliviousness in which my dear brother Castiel seems perpetually stuck.” He shook his head, pitying his brother. “From there you got casual flirting, then messing around up to second base, and a couple of levels involving people you work with that you probably shouldn’t get involved with anyway.” That’s was where the dean’s secretary had fallen, and Gabriel probably could have evaluated that whole situation a little better. But, Hey! Pancakes. It was worth it in the end. 

“And then?” Sam asked, his hand finally coming down from his face as he listened, his expression thoughtful, like one studying a foreign culture.

“At step six, you’re kind of on the fence,” he continued, pouring sugar on his empty plate and drawing designs in the white grains with the tines of his fork. “You don’t know for sure if the person is going to be a level seven, the fuck-buddy with amazing sex but you’re too ashamed to show them off, or a level eight, someone you can date, which may or may not involve sex.” Sam’s face grew red and Gabriel looked up to see a shock faced waitress at his side, check in hand. He smiled at her and took the paper, passing it immediately to Sam. The other man ducked his head, keeping his face hidden until he pulled out a few crumpled bills and handed them to the waitress. She nodded, her smile unsure, and scurried off. 

“Out,” Sam ordered, his face still red as he stood and ushered Gabriel to the front door. Gabriel waved cheerfully when they passed the kitchen and he could see Anna’s red head peeking from around the corner. He was rewarded with a stifled screech that he couldn’t fully enjoy thanks to Sam pushing him out the door. “Haven’t you embarrassed me enough for one day?” the man moaned and headed for the piece of junk he called a car.

Gabriel checked his watch. “It’s only 7:30 in the morning,” he answered, following Sam across the mostly empty lot. “I could probably go for more.” 

“No, thank you,” Sam told him firmly as he unlocked the car and got in. Gabriel could see him debating for a moment, before the man leaned over and pulled up on the passenger lock to let him in. 

“Good on you.” Gabriel might not have blamed him if Sam had left him at the diner. It was probably better that he hadn’t because Gabriel would have come up with half a dozen ways to make him pay, but he still wouldn’t have blamed the man. Even he was almost embarrassed, though it was mostly for Anna and Sam than for himself. He was protected by the rule of the levels. “Anyhow, then you got level nine, which is where Anna and Kali were at, the girlfriend level.”

Sam nodded and started the car. “Right, so you were cheating on her. With Kali?” he clarified, nodding when he was sure he gotten the name right.

“Haven’t you been listening, Sasquatch?” Gabriel shook his head and settled against the door to watch the taller man more clearly. He really was too damn tall, with his seat pushed nearly all the way back. Gabriel had to turn almost to his side to even see the other man. “It’s not cheating until level ten, exclusivity, and I haven’t met a level ten yet.”

Sam nodded slowly, but said nothing. Gabriel let the wisdom sink in until they were in the school’s parking lot, just outside his building. “That is quite possibly the single most dickhead thing I’ve ever heard,” Sam finally told him, and got of the car.

Gabriel hurried after him, only just remembering to slam down the lock before he shut the door. Kid seriously needed to invest in a newer car. One with automatic locks. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminded the other man.

Sam shook his head, hitching his backpack on his shoulder. “You’re a dick.”

“I’m still your teacher,” Gabriel said, and Sam stopped walking, a flush rising slowly to his cheeks. Gabriel grinned wide, moving to poke the taller man in the side a few times. “You forgot. Ha! So, more pancakes right?” Sam glared at him, but Gabriel just shrugged, then lifted his arms to fold his hands behind his head as he walked for his classroom. “Or, you know, I could just get offended.” He heard a sound of annoyance behind him and smiled wider. Really, the kid was just too easy. And hey! More pancakes!


	14. Sammy Shut Down

Balancing the books carefully in the crook of his left arm, Sam reached out with his right to run his fingers over the spines on the top shelf. He was on a schedule and didn’t really have the time to marvel over the feel of the books and appreciate the calming atmosphere of the library, but he closed his eyes anyway and took it in, if only for just those few moments of quiet peace. With a sigh, he forced his eyes back open, selecting his book and adding it to the others in his arms before heading to check-out. Normally, the college library’s extensive collection covered most of his research needs, and the internet handled the rest. But the semester long research assignment Gabriel had given out had required a visit to the public library in search of less conventional material. 

He was counting the books under his breath, making sure he hadn’t accidentally picked up more than the library’s maximum, when the low voice, familiar despite his having heard it on only two occasions, interrupted his thoughts and he looked up into the startlingly blue eyes that even his brother seemed to find fascinating. “Castiel,” he greeted the man, only just able to hide the surprise in his tone. Given his suit and disheveled appearance, Sam might have mistaken the man for an accountant before librarian. But there he stood, just behind the counter with a scanner in one hand, a book in the other, and a professional looking name tag reading “Castiel Novak” in dark letters. 

The other man looked up to him, the small office-appropriate smile widening some with the warmth of familiarity and just a touch of embarrassment. “Sammy,” he replied, and given their circumstances Sam might have been too secretly thrilled that Castiel could both remember his name and say it in that sweet low tone. 

“Samuel,” he clarified, reminding himself to play it cool, “or just Sam.” 

Castiel nodded and smiled again, and Sam felt like he’d just found the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. “Sam,” he conceded and reached for the stack of books the taller man had nearly forgotten about, his eyes flicking over the titles as he scanned them with Sam’s library card. “Interesting selection,” he murmured, then louder, “We don’t really have many people looking for books on Norse mythology.” Sam shrugged, biting his tongue to still his automatic urge to insult the assignment. Castiel no doubt knew about it already, even if he didn’t know that Sam was his brother’s student. It wasn’t the kind of connection he was hoping to make with the shorter man. So instead he feigned a genuine interest in the subject, and was rewarded with Castiel’s smile, alight with true friendliness rather than simple professionalism. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake,” Castiel said, and Sam nodded, hoping the grin he offered didn’t give him away as a liar. 

He listened for a few moments as Castiel spoke, nodding at appropriate times, though he paid more attention to the cadence and flow of the man’s voice than the actual words. When Castiel finished scanning through all the books, setting them in a neat stack with Sam’s library card resting on top, Sam just thanked him with another smile. He pulled the books into his arms and moved to leave. Halfway to the door, he gave in to the inner voice, the part of him that was scolding him with phrases like “missed opportunity”, and turned on his heel, catching Castiel as the man was shrugging into his trench. “Do you want to… go out for a cup of coffee or something?” he asked, pleased that his voice came out much more confident than he felt and hoping that Castiel didn’t notice the white in his knuckles from his too tight nervous grip on his books. 

Castiel blinked at him, his movements stilling and his head tipped just to the side as if the invitation confused him. Sam fought the urge to shuffle his feet as the silence dragged on. “I only drink coffee in the morning,” the man finally said, and Sam’s brows furrowed as he tried to decide if that was possibly the nicest way someone had ever turned him down, or if Castiel had not understood what he’d meant by the asking.

There was a small furrow between the man’s dark brows that Sam took as genuine misunderstanding. So he shook his head. “We don’t have to drink coffee,” he clarified, “just you know, go somewhere and talk. Maybe get to know each other a bit better,” he suggested. 

“Why?” Castiel asked as he finished slipping into his jacket, and Sam could hear in his voice that the question was just that. It was possible that the man had no idea what Sam had been trying to achieve in asking him out, and just then Sam himself wasn’t sure anymore, too embarrassed to remember.

“Some other time maybe,” he mumbled, so low that he wasn’t sure that Castiel could actually hear him, and spun on his heel, hastening through the doors. He heard a woman’s voice behind him, thought he might have heard her scolding Castiel for being so obtuse, but he didn’t stick around long enough to hear the other man’s deep voiced response. The pressure didn’t lift from his chest until after he’d dumped the books in his front seat, after he settled into his piece of shit car and was well on his way back to his house. Only then could he remember the startling blue of Castiel’s eyes, the sweet innocence of his smile, and the seriousness that that drew Sam to him. 

So of course it only made sense that at that moment his phone would ring, the grating tones jarring him from his thoughts and he answered without checking the ID. It was early evening on a Friday, soon enough for Dean to be calling. But it wasn’t his brother on the other end of the line, and Sam grimaced as he held the phone to his ear, trying to re-balance the books so that he could exit the car and open the front door without difficulty and in just one trip. “Sammo!” the familiar voice came through the faint static. “I want to go drinking and I can’t get ahold of your brother. Be my designated driver?” Gabriel asked, though Sam knew it wasn’t really a question.

“By which you mean, ‘be my wingman and take me home when all attempts at finding a level eight fail yet again’?” he snarked, not caring that it was rude. This was Gabriel, and outside of class the man was the biggest pain in his ass. He pictured sweet Castiel, his dark hair and bright eyes and quiet demeanor so far away from Gabriel’s loud jokes and dancing eyes that Sam wondered if they truly were brothers. 

“You might know me a little too well, Sasquatch,” Gabriel laughed, either not noticing or ignoring that Sam was not thrilled to hear from him. Sam would bet on the latter. “So get your gargantuan self down here and keep me company,” he ordered. Gabriel didn’t give him time to protest, staying on the line only long enough to give Sam the name of the bar he’d chosen in which to begin the night’s search for a new girlfriend. Sam was left holding a silent phone to his ear before he’d even managed to get the front door open. 

He dropped the books off in his room, not bothering to change his clothes. It wasn’t like he was the one hunting after all, and even in his worn jeans and faded plaid shirts, the few times he’d accompanied Gabriel, Sam still seemed to draw more attention from the women than his short companion. It made him a poor wingman. Sam debated not going, just staying at home taking the occasional sip of beer as he flipped through the books he’d picked up, hoping to find just what exactly the teacher in Gabriel wanted him to find for the assignment. But Gabriel texted him, a steady stream of nonsense words and jumbled letters purely meant to annoy, until Sam finally replied ‘on my way’.

Really, he reasoned, it would save him time in the long run. Sooner or later Dean would be calling him, drunk off his ass and needing a ride. At least this way, Sam would already be nearby. If he was lucky, they might even run across one another before it came to that. Besides, however else annoying Gabriel might be, he always picked up the tab, and the man had a taste for the top shelf booze, so at least Sam would be getting something out of it.


	15. A Day in the Life of Dean

The day had started so well. Sure, Ben had burst into the guest bedroom of Lisa’s house at an obscenely early hour to pounce over-enthusiastically on his stomach. It had been a rude awakening for Dean, but the bright smile on the kid’s face more than made up for the shock, and Dean spent a few minutes tickling Ben to uncontrollable laughter before Lisa called them for breakfast. He had a coffee, took a shower, and dressed for work all while Lisa fought with Ben to get dressed. He even managed another cup before the kid was fully seated in his batman booster seat in the minivan’s middle row. “You’ll be late,” Lisa had called to him from the front door. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean had called back but still took his time rinsing out his mug. He’d heard the van backing out, and Lisa honking once as she pulled away, just another good-bye before he left for the weekend. As much as he loved his baby, the gas mileage was about what you could expect from a ’67 Impala, not good. Until this year, he’d spent the months it took to film his movies staying at Lisa’s place, with only the occasional visit back home. So he had his own room at the house, with his own clothes in the closet, and his own key to the front door. Sam was his brother, and he wouldn’t trade what they had, but sometimes it was nice to come over and pretend at playing family man with Lisa and her son. 

Even the ride to work when he finally left the house hadn’t been so bad, with light traffic and clear skies that promised a beautiful day. But his mood could turn sour in a heartbeat, and did when he pulled to a stop outside “the set.” He was a bit early for the shooting, so Dean sat in his car, listening to Zepplin as he studied the building, trying to decide just how they’d managed to fit his own personal hell so neatly inside that two story suburban dream house. He watched as a few other actors arrived, hurried on by the brisk walking of crew members and the catering service, which seemed to actually be running a bit late. Finally, he sighed, and forced himself from the comfort of his car. Last day before his weekend, and he thanked Lisa for slipping that into his contract, because if he had to work on the less organized schedule most of the other actors had, he might go insane. Ruby was already pushing him there anyway.

Before he’d even made it to the massive master bedroom, nodding every now again at people he passed, Dean could feel the headache building. He went through his usual preparations ignoring the chattering going on around him, and managed to keep his face impassive until he took his position. Crowley hardly spared him a glance as he threw orders to the crew, the two cameramen moving their equipment quickly to his demanded locations. Ruby was already in place, casually examining her nails for chipped paint and only once looking at the man standing next to her as she waited patiently for the movement to slow and the filming to start. 

Dean looked her up and down, taking in the short dress, its thin red fabric cut low over her breasts and a slit in the thigh clear up to her hip to show off what four different websites called her best assets, her legs. If he didn’t hate her so much, Dean might have admitted that she looked incredible. But this was Ruby, and he wouldn’t waste any words of flattery feeding her black hole of an ego, even if they were true. So instead, he leveled a look of dislike at her. “Bit dressy for a suburban housewife turned witch, isn’t it?” he pointed out, not caring that his complaint, however valid, should actually be addressed to wardrobe. 

She shrugged carelessly, her thin shoulders the perfect tan one might only achieve at a salon. “Who cares? You’re just going to be ripping it off anyway. Isn’t that right, big boy?” Ruby gave him a wink that paired with a lewd smirk only filled him with disgust. “Or would you like another look at the script?”

Dean snorted, flipping her the bird and ignoring her suggestive reply as he turned his gaze on the crew, still hurrying about the room and hall. Crowley was throwing another diva fit, this time at his personal assistant and Dean couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy as the director threw his coffee down, either not noticing or not caring that the move sent dark splatters over the carpeted floor and the kid’s ratty shoes. He just yelled at him to do it again, and do it right. Dean shook his head and turned his attention back to the set as the boy trudged from the room, shame written across his cheeks clear enough even with his head bowed and his dark hair falling over his eyes. “Pity for the help, Dean?” Ruby drawled from his side. “Don’t waste your time. Kid probably gets off on it.”  
“Go die, Ruby,” Dean muttered back, trying to shake the tension out of his shoulders as he watched Crowley take position. 

The three hours that followed were among the most excruciating in Dean’s life. He made it through the initial rough kissing, even got so far as pulling off her dress and his shirt. Then things went sour. Ruby was undeniably sexy, so he managed to fake the attraction for that first hour, but Crowley wasn’t satisfied and called for multiple retakes. Whenever Dean managed to satisfy the director, Ruby pulled some stunt that screwed the take. After the first two times, Dean suspected it was on purpose. After the next four, he was sure it was. His head was pounding louder than Ruby’s overacted moans. His shoulders and lower back ached from the constant repeated motions, his legs were on fire from keeping himself balanced away from the woman and fuck! He wasn’t even allowed to reach the satisfaction that might have made the time worth it. 

Finally, Crowley was disgusted enough that he snapped for a break, then spent the whole time yelling at the editing crew enough that Dean, heading downstairs to pick through food in the kitchen, could hear him clearly. Something about patching the takes together to create a scene worth watching. Dean just shook his head as he pulled his shirt over his shoulders, not bothering to fasten the buttons until he’d reached his goal. Ruby had already tossed on a robe, only barely held together by the loose tie at her waist, and was settled comfortably on her chair in the living room, phone to her ear as she chatted with some unknown. Her dark eyes fell on him over the bar between them, and he recognized the grin she sent him, filled with mischievous cruelty. 

He ignored her, only taking a moment to acknowledge that that expression right there was why she could never really be pretty. He would have told her so too, if he hadn’t noticed Garth tossing something into Dean’s chair, his face pulled to look innocent. Dean wasn’t buying it. “The hell were you messing with?” he snarled, stalking towards the slighter man and looking down into his chair. His phone, which he knew he’d left in the pocket of his jacket even now slung over the arm of the flimsy chair, was face down in the seat and he snatched it up, flipping through the screens as he searched for what the punk might have done.

“You got a call,” Garth told him, sounding for all the world like a concerned friend. “I thought it might be important.” 

A glance at his recents list showed that there was indeed a call, though Dean didn’t recognize the number. Still, he pinned Garth with a threatening glare. “Touch my phone again, and I’ll break your hand,” he swore, slipping said phone into the back of his jeans pocket.

Garth held up both his hands in a placating gesture, letting out a low whistle. “Touchy,” he replied, and Dean’s eyes narrowed further. “Alright, alright,” he said, his gaze skittering away nervously though it wasn’t apparent in his easy tone. “I won’t touch it again.”

Dean gave one short nod, grabbed his jacket and stalked away, ignoring that Ruby called to him, that he bumped into Crowley’s browbeaten assistant, or that Jo and Amy tried to get his attention from their conversation on the plush couch that dominated the large room. Crowley, though, he couldn’t ignore, especially not when the man stepped directly into his path and turned that already-annoyed gaze to him. “And where do you think you’re off to?” the man asked, his voice laced with that same snarky superiority that Dean barely tolerated on a good day. 

“Home,” he answered shortly, throwing his jacket on and slipping his arms quickly into the sleeves as he side-stepped the man. He didn’t care just then that Crowley was the director or even that something like walking out during a shoot could reflect badly on him as far as contracts go. He had to get out, and it had to be now. 

“We aren’t done for the day, boy,” Crowley said, moving just as quickly to block Dean. “That performance was pathetic.”

For the first time that day, Dean met Crowley’s eyes, and he let show all the anger he fought even now to control. “Then take your complaints to that bitch. I’ve read the itinerary. My scene is done, thanks to the magic of editing,” he finished with sarcastic wave of his fingers. “Just email me next week’s schedule, but I’ve got shit to do.”

Crowley grabbed his arm as he tried to pass again, and Dean was surprised enough by the move that he looked back to the man. Crowley ripped people apart with his words, tore them down with a simple glare, but never touched if he could help it. Dean couldn’t blame him. This was the porn industry. Who actually knew what they were getting their hands into? So he let Crowley pull him close, holding the man’s gaze even as he saw the thinly veiled annoyance in those light eyes. “You are only leaving because you have wasted enough of my time,” the man told him, his voice low and all pleasantness seeped away. “Whatever your personal feelings, this film will finish without a hitch. I suggest you find a way to regain your professionalism by Monday.” The threat was there, hidden under the words and so many meanings, but clear enough to Dean, that if he couldn’t act, then he would be hearing from Alistair. And it would not end well. Crowley released his arm, his brow smoothing back to its normal sardonic tilt, his mouth curling up at the edge in that shit-eating grin. “She is a sexy woman and you’re an energetic young man. You don’t have to like her to fuck her. Convincingly, anyway,” he finished and walked back to his set, the crew scrambling to appear as though they hadn’t been avidly watching the entire exchange.

Dean snorted, straightened his jacket and pushed his way out the doors. If that was Crowley’s best advice, it Dean could tell him right off the bat that sometimes, shit just didn’t work like that. But then, he’d always pegged the man as gay, so he was pretty sure the other man wouldn’t simply “fuck” Ruby himself. Course, it also wasn’t Crowley’s job to do so. The reminder of whose job it was exactly put a scowl on his face that stayed with him the entire drive home, and through the first two bars he visited at the Crossroads.

So yeah, today had been one hell of a fucked up mess of day. Still, Dean figured even if he was sober, he probably wouldn’t be able to explain just how he’d managed to end it with Castiel Novak held in his arms, pressed tight to his chest with firm lips under his gasped open in surprise. He tried to figure the answer himself, just so he might make an argument if anyone said anything, and only managed to black out the world instead.


	16. Castiel's Inner Conflicts

There was something oddly comforting in a row of books properly organized by his own hand. Castiel knew his brother would laugh at the thought, but Gabriel was concise chaos, like the tornado that lasted only seconds and yet still managed to destroy entire towns. It had become a losing battle keeping his home clean with the man staying there, and already Castiel had fallen prey to his brother’s pranks. How Gabriel had switched his refrigerator door to open on the opposite side with his noticing, Castiel still hadn’t managed to figure out. And he sure would not admit to having spent the better part of two days trying to find out what was wrong with the appliance before realizing the hinges had moved. Still, all was neat and orderly at the library, despite his brother’s occasional visit, and Castiel could at least breathe easy while at work.

Except that Rafaela was now shaking her head sorrowfully at him, as if she couldn’t quite decide just how such an intelligent man could be so very stupid. Castiel mostly ignored it. It was not that he had not realized Samuel Winchester was asking him on a date, simply that he could not understand why the man would do so. Surprising enough that Sam was apparently homosexual, it was even more so that he felt comfortable enough to ask Castiel out when they hardly knew each other, certainly not enough to recognize the other’s sexual inclinations. He’d asked, curious to what Sam would say. Sam had blushed, mumbled under his breath and left the library in a hurry, unknowingly abandoning Castiel to his friend’s scolding tirade. So Castiel turned the bulk of his attention to organizing the returned books on the cart, only nodding his head at seemingly important points as if he were listening. “He’s gay,” Rafaela stressed, and Castiel looked up in time to see her shouldering her bag and heading for the door. He followed, taking the move as a sign that he would be allowed at last to leave for the day. “That’s what they do: ask other guys out for coffee.”

“That is an over-simplification,” Castiel pointed out, and turned to lock the inner doors, running his sharp gaze over the darkened library once more. Then he spun and followed her out, locking the outer doors quickly. “I simply meant that we have only spoken on two previous occasions. I do not understand how that is the solid basis for a relationship of any sort.” He stubbornly ignored his own attempt at friendship with Dean Winchester the week before. Really, that was apples to oranges, all things considered. He only wanted to save Dean’s soul, not invite him out for drinks.

Rafaela rolled her eyes, and let out an exasperated puff of air. “That’s the point, isn’t it?” she told him. “You go out for coffee to find out more about each other and make the basis for a solid relationship.” She spoke the last with such sarcasm that even Castiel, who struggled to find the hidden meaning in words, could pick up on it. “Seriously, Castiel,” and now she sounded almost concerned for him as she followed the man around the side of the library to his car. “You never have any fun. I just want to see you go all goo-goo over someone just once.”

He stopped rummaging in his trench for his car keys and pinned her with a look that Gabriel had once told him would keep a wild bird frozen on a branch. “Why would you want to see that?” he asked, his hand tightening reflexively around the loose change in his pocket. 

She shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the power of that stare as she searched through her purse. “You’re always so serious, you know. Even when you smile, it’s not really like you’re smiling. Nothing seems to bug you or get to you. It’s sort of like you’re not even human, know what I mean?” She looked back to him, taking in the tilt of his head and letting out a sigh. “No, I guess you don’t,” she finished, finally pulling out her keys. She fumbled the keys awkwardly between her hands for a few moments, even turning to her car to open the door, before spinning back around and looking at Castiel. He met her gaze, still trying to decide just what she’d meant by this entire line of conversation. “Is it because he’s a guy?” Rafaela asked, her hand rubbing over her hair as if to smooth the strands down further. It was a nervous gesture, Castiel knew, because Rafaela’s hair seemed always perfect. “I always pegged you as gay.”

Castiel drew back, feeling as though she’d slapped him across the face, his brows snapping together and his hands fisted tightly. ”Gay?” he echoed disbelievingly. It was a sin, an abomination in the eyes of the Lord. Rafaela was rambling, her face flushing harder so that he could see her blush even in the dark, but Castiel wasn’t paying attention to her words, not anymore. He had been with women before, maintained relationships for months, even years once. They had all ended badly, but that in no way meant that Castiel was gay. A relationship like that, which served only for pleasure to the individuals rather than for the advancement of the species, went against everything Castiel had been raised to believe. Unsure how to handle the situation without insulting the woman, Castiel shook his head, deaf to her apologies, and got into his car, pulling away from the library parking lot perhaps a bit faster than absolutely necessary. 

An hour later, he was parked at his house, still in his car though he’d been home for the better part of that time, simply praying. Sam he could tell was a good man, despite his homosexuality, and Castiel could not hold that against him. It was God’s place to judge a soul, not his. Sometimes, it was a difficult thing to remember, especially when he could so clearly see Michael in his head, pulling forth those memories of childhood. 

He had been perhaps about ten, sitting in church with a 16 year old Gabriel on his left fiddling with the hymnals and a 21 year old Michael on his right, his eldest brother staring with rapt attention as the choir formed orderly rows behind the podium. A pair of men walked in, hands held together and heads held high, claiming the aisle seats of a pew only two or three in front of them. The whispers had started immediately, and Castiel turned his attention to the men, curious about what they had done to turn such good people so cruel. “Can you believe them?” a woman’s voice, softly scorning. “How dare they?” another’s, shaking with anger. “How did they not burst into flames crossing the threshold?” a male voice, younger and only half-joking. 

Michael had pulled at his shoulder, forcing Castiel to sit back in the pew, and hissed to him, disgust clear on his face. “Those are bad people, Castiel. Don’t even look to them.” Castiel had nodded, keeping his eyes to the floor, except for one brief moment, when he’d chanced a glance up during a hymn. Those men were singing as loudly as the others, seemingly unaffected by the dark looks of disapproval or by the space left around them by the other parishioners, and he thought that they were good Christians to praise the Lord through their suffering, like Job. It wasn’t until they’d gone home that Michael had explained the nature of their sin. Though he had since become Methodist and embraced the ideal that all souls could be saved, even the homosexuals, sometimes it was still so much easier to judge a man evil rather than accept that he was only what God had made him.

The ringing of his phone jarred him from his thoughts, for which Castiel was grateful, even when he did not recognize the number that scrolled across the small screen. He answered it, as brief as usual, “Hello?”

For several long minutes, Castiel only heard the thumping of music and indistinct chatter of many voices, a combined sound that he had come to recognize from Gabriel’s drunk-dialing and now identified with ‘bar scene’. He very nearly called out to his brother, when another voice came to him instead. “Sammy.” That was very definitely not Gabriel. “I’m at the Crossroads. Come get me.”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to tell the man on the other end that he was not Sammy, but the line disconnected. When he tried to call back, there was no answer. He sighed, his fingers absently tapping out a staccato rhythm on his steering wheel. It was such a shame that he only heard the man’s voice when he was drunk, but at this point, Castiel wasn’t sure he would recognize Dean Winchester sober. And it was definitely Dean Winchester who had called him. Castiel only gave his number to so many people, and of those only one would be looking for a Sammy. 

Wishing he had bothered to get the other man’s number before embarrassing Sam so apparently thoroughly, Castiel settled instead on calling his own brother. Friday evening usually meant Gabriel was getting a bit drunk himself. Since he’d lately gone with Dean, Castiel figured Gabriel would be able to handle the issue. When his brother answered, Castiel was rewarded with that familiar bar music, just enough off that he could tell his brother and Dean were not in the same place. “Hey, Castiel,” Gabriel called to him cheerfully, then ignored him as he joked with his companion for the night.

Castiel listened for several moments, catching words and small phrases every now and again, but nothing that might resolve his situation with Dean. “Gabriel,” he said, and received no acknowledgement. “Gabriel,” he tried again, louder, though it did nothing. “Gabriel!” he finally near shouted the name, and his brother replied, still cheerful, as if he hadn’t just been ignoring Castiel the entire time. “Is Dean Winchester with you?” 

“Haven’t seen or heard from him all night, bro,” Gabriel said and shouted something away from the phone. Castiel could hear the laughter in his voice when he came back to ask, “Why are you looking for Dean Winchester?” There was another voice, talking furiously in low tones, then sounds of a scuffle before the phone disconnected. Castiel pulled it away from his ear and stared at the cell in consternation. He tried calling his brother again, but the phone went straight to voicemail three times in a row, and after leaving a short message, Castiel gave up. 

Truthfully, he owed the man nothing, and perhaps a night spent on a hard bench outside a noisy bar would do Dean some good. Perhaps a cop would find him, and the man would somehow begin to attend the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings that were offered at the community center. He’d realize his life was headed in a poor direction and straighten his path, holding down a steady job and even attending church on Sundays. Castiel sighed, and turned the key in the ignition, listening to the smooth sound of the engine starting up. Then he pulled out of his driveway and followed what was becoming, thanks to Gabriel, a too-familiar route to the Crossroads. 

Somehow, he didn’t think a drunk Dean would appreciate being woken by a cop, or anyone else. Rather than ultimately finding himself in a church, events were more likely to take a turn that ended in a prison sentence. Dean had called for his help, if accidentally, and Castiel, having already offered it, was now obliged to follow through. Never mind that this was not the sort of assistance he had meant when they’d talked in the cemetery.   
He knew exactly where the other man would be and, not planning on staying for any real length of time, Castiel bypassed the parking lot. He instead drove slowly down the main road, sharp gaze watching for any careless drunk that might stumble into the street until he pulled next to Dean and Gabriel’s favorite resting place, the bus stop bench. Castiel hesitated only a moment before leaving his car and walking quickly to the other man.

It seemed to take him some effort, but Dean managed to lift his head and peered at Castiel, squinting through the space between them with eyes bleary with drink. “C-cas?” he asked, apparently not even trying to pronounce the name when so much alcohol slipping through his system. Castiel rolled his eyes. Gabriel did the same thing. This really wouldn’t be so different than helping his own brother. “Why are you here?”

If Castiel had believed the man lucid enough to understand an explanation, he might have offered one. As it was, he only said, “Hello, Dean,” and shifted closer, pulling Dean’s arm over his shoulder and struggling slightly to help the bigger man stand. He took a few heavy steps toward his car, trying to work out just what he’d do with the other man when he did manage to get him into the vehicle. Castiel didn't know where Dean lived, and though Gabriel might, his older brother still was not answering his phone. He bit his lip as they took another step and Dean stumbled heavily, nearly dragging Castiel down, but he straightened and shifted the arm on his shoulder to carry more of the other man’s weight. His own home was not an option. Castiel hardly knew the man well enough to bring him into his house, especially drunk. He could take Dean to the church. Even as late as it was, he was sure the pastor would still be there. Perhaps waking in a church would help Dean to resolve whatever issues he had that led him to drink so often and so heavily. 

Pleased with his decision, Castiel turned his full focus back to Dean just as the man tripped on the curb, grunting as they slammed into the side of the car. Castiel hissed a little as pain bloomed where his head hit the metal. “Sorry, sorry,” Dean muttered, the words blurring just slightly together, and the man shifted so that Castiel was facing him. The first touch of Dean’s fingers, clumsy but gentle, on the bump he was sure would bruise was a surprise and jolted him from the thought of just how much Dean had sounded like Gabriel. He sincerely hoped it was not a prelude to the man throwing up his drinks. Castiel rather liked his trench coat. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” he managed, trying to extricate himself from the arm around his shoulder, to help the other man into the car. But that arm tightened and Dean moved, pushing Castiel until his back was pressed against the side of the car, the hard line of the hood against his shoulders and Dean’s arm slipping to curl around his waist. “Dean,” he said again, his hands fluttering uncertainly at his sides, his own confusion finding no other outlet. The other man’s eyes, the green startlingly bright behind the haze of alcohol, lifted to meet his for the first time. For long moments, they simply stood, chest to chest, Dean’s legs spread around his and Dean’s eyes unwavering. “Dean, are you-“

Those were lips on his, warm and firm, and a tongue probing at the seam of his mouth. Castiel’s eyes widened and he pulled his head back, only managing to suck in a gasp of surprise before Dean’s hand curved around the back of his head and pulled him back in, taking advantage of that surprise to slip his tongue between Castiel’s lips. He tasted beer and Dean, and squeezed his eyes closed at the sensation the combination elicited. His mind screamed at him “Sin!” and Castiel knew the voice was right, that this was wrong, but his hands, fisted in the sides of Dean’s jacket offered only the slightest protest in trying to push the man away. Like lightening, that incredible feeling surged from his mouth, scattering his thoughts, tingling through his fingers, and racing down to bring his arousal to life more quickly than Castiel could ever have remembered experiencing, even as a teenager. The sudden question that came so clearly to mind should have bothered him more, how could anyone kiss this well?

“Cas,” Dean just barely pulled away to murmur, and Castiel could feel that gaze on his face, those fingers in his hair, their breath mingling warm and damp between them, and an answering hardness pressed to his hip. Dean dropped his head to Castiel’s shoulder, the man’s breath breaking and feathering across the sensitive skin of his neck. Castiel, still trying to process just what had happened, wasn’t prepared for the sudden deadweight of Dean’s body going slack and boneless as he passed out. His arms tightened reflexively around the man, only the car’s support behind him keeping them both upright, and he let his head fall back against the hood with a breath of air that settled somewhere between a gasp of shock and a sigh of relief. 

He wasn’t gay, he knew he wasn’t. Sam Winchester had not appealed to him in the slightest, despite Rafaela assuring him that the man was the very definition of male beauty. Nothing came from the union of two men that could be sanctified by God and Castiel’s moral compass quivered unerringly to sin at the mere thought. But he could not deny, especially with the man passed out in his arms even now, that Dean had stirred something in him that he’d never felt. With hands trembling and face flushed with shame, Castiel managed to get Dean into the backseat of his car, however uncomfortably. He caught a glimpse of his own face in the mirror, taking in the too bright eyes and still red lips, and if he hadn’t already decided that church was the best place for his unconscious companion, Castiel knew he’d be going there now anyway. And it was no longer just Dean’s soul he was worried about.


	17. Drunken Times with Sam and Gabriel

Gabriel hadn’t expected Sam to actually agree to join him in drinks, but he wasn’t going to turn down the company, not when he’d already been shut down by half the women in the bar and in less than an hour. His luck was shit. It was already not his kind of night, so he might as well not spend it alone. But when Sam had arrived at the bar, Gabriel could tell instantly that something was up, even if no amount of asking or cajoling would get the guy to tell him just what. It was interesting to note though the expression on Sam’s face when Castiel had called looking for Dean, somewhere between outright fear and utter embarrassment. The taller man had scrambled for the phone, trying to take it away from Gabriel as if he thought the man might say something, about what he wasn’t sure. Somehow, his phone had landed on the floor, and Gabriel laughed at Sam’s reaction. The guy nearly jumped on it, turning it off in such a rush that Gabriel just had to tease him about it.

The attitude made a bit of sense though, when he and Sam left the bar, not so far into their cups that he couldn’t do with a few more, and started across the street. Sam stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, uncaring of the people who walked around, shooting him little looks of annoyance. Gabriel followed that gaze, his mouth forming into a small ‘o’ of surprise that he couldn’t hide. Because Castiel didn’t kiss often, and certainly not men, but there he was, Dean Winchester plastered to his front like they didn’t need to breathe. “Well, you don’t see that every day,” he admitted cheerfully.

Sam jerked a nod, and spun away, his shoulders tight and hands clenched into fists at his side. Gabriel glanced back at his brother only once, then hurried after Sam, deciding that the sasquatch was sure to offer a better show than that work-in-progress going on against Castiel’s car. Gabriel was smart. He was also annoying, and loud, and perhaps a bit over-confident, so he knew people overlooked his intelligence more often than not, but he could connect the dots better than any four year old with an activity book and the picture he was looking at just now gave him all sorts of fun ideas. 

Samuel Winchester was funny when he was drunk, well and truly drunk, and Gabriel was sure the grin splitting his face may become a permanent fixture. Another few drinks had turned into many more, with the younger man taking two shots for every one of Gabriel’s. Still that dark look that had shadowed his face earlier disappeared with the jollity of alcohol racing through his veins and eventually they made it to Sam’s old car. He was slow and careful, following Sam’s directions to his house, cautious for any cops patrolling the quiet neighborhood. He figured it was a sign that his luck was finally beginning to turn when they made it safe and under the radar. 

Sam stumbled twice up the front walk, singing something unintelligible under his breath, and peered over long at the keys Gabriel had slipped back into his hand, as if he couldn’t quite make out which would open the front door. Rolling his eyes, Gabriel took them back and Sam leaned against the wall, still singing, as he played trial and error until he found the correct key. Seriously, did anyone really need that many keys on one key ring? What could they all go to? If Gabriel was expecting Sam’s home to be as neat and orderly as Sam had shown himself to be in class, he was wrong. Not dirty, precisely, but the living room revealed when Sam flicked on the light was cluttered. Worn furniture crowded the small room, and magazines littered two of the three coffee tables. The shelves lining the walls were filled with a mix of books, movies, and all the random objects one might collect over a lifetime, that upon closer inspection seemed to be various over-polished parts from car engines. Gabriel decided right away that Dean had a lot of control over the décor and let the door close behind him as he followed Sam to the couch.

After the initial surprise of sinking three inches deep into a couch that had looked much more firm, Gabriel shifted so he could prop his feet up on the table. “S’rude,” Sam pointed out, his hand brushing blindly over the table on his right, as if searching for something. 

Gabriel shrugged and didn’t move his feet. “I just drove your ass all the way home, with no way to get back. I think I’m allowed to stick my feet anywhere I want,” he finished, his grin softening the imperious tone he’d used. Not that Sam even noticed, the way the kid was giggling. “Kiddo?” he asked, wondering if this was the moment he finally watched someone go off the deep end.

“Stick’em in your butt!” Sam cried, before collapsing in a fit of laughter. Gabriel lifted a brow at what was possibly the world’s worst joke. Sam’s eyes were screwed shut, his face rapidly turning red, and the laughter coming out as more hiccups than anything else. He at least thought the joke was brilliant. Gabriel fished his phone out of his pocket and snapped a quick picture of the normally oh-so-controlled Sam basically losing it. Then he took a few more, just for good measure. 

“I’m thinking you should get some sleep, Sasquatch,” Gabriel said as Sam’s laughter wound down, and he snapped one more picture of the kid’s face, catching it right at that awkward setting between happy and pouting.

“I’m not tired,” Sam whined and didn’t that sound like a five year old. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes and dropped his phone on top of the stack of magazines near his feet. His eyes lighted on the remote to the small TV and he grabbed it before settling back into the old couch. “Whatever you say, kiddo,” he finally told Sam. He’d gotten the guy home, and really that was all he felt responsible for. Whether or not the kid made it to bed wasn’t his problem. He flicked on the TV, the noise instantly filling the room. Recognition of the subtly jazzy tune raced through him as quickly as the low groans and high –pitched cries of pleasure, sending his blood pooling south faster than Gabriel could push the power button. It was too late, though, thanks to his recently enforced celibacy, and he looked hopelessly down at the sudden tightness of his pants. Seriously? He directed the thought to his erection, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Who got aroused from half a second of cable porn? 

He wondered if Sam would notice him popping into the bathroom for a little relief and Gabriel turned his gaze to the other man, trying to be casual while praying to God that he hadn’t noticed the situation. Sam’s eyes were on him, and Gabriel watched with something akin to horror, though he’d never admit it aloud, as the man’s drunken gaze trailed downwards. Okay, yeah, the kid definitely noticed. There was a slight flush on his cheeks when Sam lifted his eyes, an intense burn dancing just behind the glaze of alcohol. “I can help with that if you want,” he offered, and there was none of the laughter that had had him curled up just moments ago. 

Gabriel choked a little in an attempt to breathe, finally managing to cough out, “What?”

Sam didn’t seem to notice Gabriel’s discomfort, motioning with a hand that came entirely too close to his nether regions. “I can give you a blow job. It’s okay, I’ve been told I’m good,” he explained, shifting closer. 

Gabriel tried desperately to think of something, anything to say, even in one of his many foreign languages, but the syllables slipped from his mind and he watched, speechless for perhaps the first time in his life, as Sam slipped to the floor with more grace than anyone should show after having consumed as much alcohol as Gabriel knew Sam had. The taller man settled between Gabriel’s legs, his large hands curled up around Gabriel’s thighs, heat seeping through the denim, those hazel eyes staring up with wide innocence in complete opposition to what had just been offered. “I’m not gay,” Gabriel finally managed. He would have been more embarrassed by the sudden high pitch to his voice, but as his attention was a little wrapped up in the six-foot-something man only inches from his cock, Gabriel figured he could be forgiven for the momentary lack of control. And rather than fading away at the idea of another man’s hands on him, his erection swelled, straining almost painfully against his zipper. 

Sam’s fingers played lightly around the button of Gabriel’s jeans, his eyes leaving the older man’s face only long enough to watch the movement before flicking back upwards. “I’m gay,” he confessed, his voice low, and Gabriel wasn’t really surprised, having witnessed that moment of jealousy back at the Crossroads. Before he could point out the ridiculousness of Sam harboring any sort of crush on Castiel, the taller man’s hand slid closer, popping open the button of Gabriel’s jeans and slipping his fingers beneath the thick fabric to run lightly over the bit of skin above the waist of his boxers. Gabriel’s words melted into the shiver that raced through his limbs. “Besides,” Sam continued, his fingers slow and gentle, only teasing, “getting a blow job doesn’t make you gay. Just makes you satisfied.” He smiled from under his lashes, and Gabriel closed his eyes against that heat.

It didn’t matter. He could feel it behind his lids, and the past month was testing the last of his resolve. He’d run away from home from fifteen years ago and since hadn’t gone longer than a pair of days without getting laid. He’d offered a protest, however token, and a willing mouth was a willing mouth. It had never bothered him that it was a student before, and Sam had a point. So he gave one big sigh of “what the fuck” and opened his eyes, looking down at the man between his legs. The edges of his mouth curled in the charming smile that, until recently, had never failed, and he put his hands behind his head, leaning back into the couch. “Well, get on with it then,” he told Sam, and almost laughed at the too eager expression on the man’s face.

He hissed at the first touch of cool air on his freed cock, then Sammy was there, close enough to send short puffs of breath over the sensitive skin. With his jeans and boxers still mostly on, Gabriel didn’t have much room to maneuver, and couldn’t spread his legs any further, but Sam seemed perfectly able to make do. That hot tongue slid over the head, one smooth stripe that sent tremors racing through Gabriel’s legs, and he clenched his hands together behind his head to keep from reaching for the other man. It was only seconds later that Gabriel decided that Sam’s tongue was a gift straight from God himself, and he didn’t care how sacrilegious that thought was. His eyes fluttered closed and a moan wrenched from his lips when Sam swallowed him, his dick wrapped in tight wet heat that felt at least as good as any of the women he’d ever been with. And when the man hummed, the sound vibrating through Gabriel’s whole body, he almost came embarrassingly quickly. 

Somehow despite his earlier resolve, his hands had ended up in Sam’s long hair, the silken strands clenched tight in his fists, and Gabriel used that grip now to pull the other man away, just long enough to regain some semblance of control, over himself or the situation he hadn’t yet decided. Sammy looked up to him, pupils blown wide with desire and lips red and abused. “’S wrong?” he asked, his voice low and rough, one hand sneaking to brush light fingers against the still trembling cock so close to his mouth. 

Gabriel only shook his head, afraid that any words he might utter would only come out as nonsensical ramblings, and closed his eyes against the wicked smile that curved the other man’s lips, as if the guy somehow knew the trouble he was having. He felt the head between his hands move just slightly closer, then that hot tongue wrapped around him again, focusing its attention on the tip of his cock, sucking and pulling and swirling swipes that sent liquid heat pooling low in his belly. “Come for me,” Sam whispered the words against his skin and he only barely heard them above the rushing sound of blood in his ears. He groaned, low and loud, his hands gripping tighter into that soft hair as he no longer resisted the urge to thrust. 

Sam’s fingers circled tightly around his hip, the other hand disappearing between Sam’s own legs, and every groan and moan raced through him, urging him faster despite the restrictions of the couch beneath him. Then Sammy stiffened, his eyes clenched closed and a shuddering moan wracking through his whole body, and when his hand finally lifted to curl around Gabriel’s waist, the shorter man had just enough time to register that it was damp and sticky before his own climax hit. The edge of his vision darkened, and he might have groaned himself, but all he could feel were Sam’s hands on him, his own hands still clenched tight in that long hair, and Sam sucking and licking every bit of his release. 

And when he finally came back to himself, he watched Sam settle into the couch, absently drying his hand on his shirt with eyes already half-closed in sleep. He felt too good, riding high on the tail end of one of the best blowjobs he’d ever had, so Gabriel restrained from pointing out the mess Sam was making of the thin material, or that they should probably handle the clean up now, before Dean came sauntering in. Instead, he yawned, tucked himself back into his pants, and kicked his feet into Sam’s lap as he settled in for a nap. Things were going to be plenty awkward when Sam sobered enough to realize he’d blown his teacher. Gabriel was content to take the few minutes of silence now, before the shit hit the fan.


	18. Sam's Morning After

Sam woke with a sudden snort, groaning as the mid-morning light breaking through the blinds by the door sent pain needling through his eyes. He held them closed for several long minutes, cataloging all the physical maladies he suffered, from the dull ache in his back that came from a night spent on the couch to the raw feel of his throat, like he’d yelled too much at a football game. His shirt clung to the skin of his belly, kept stiff by a thin layer of something that once was sticky and now only felt a bit itchy. Absently, he reached to pull it away, forcing his eyes finally fully open when he discovered a pair of feet in his way.

He rolled his head forward, staring at the appendages that he knew for certain were not his. White sneakers, at least three sizes too small for him, crossed at the ankles, left foot tapping with a sort of impatience, and his own feet, still in the worn out sneakers that had been black when he’d bought them three years ago but now might just pass for grey spread out before him, one under the coffee table and the other propped awkwardly on Dean’s favorite chair. Clearly, there was a spare set here. 

With a bit more effort than Sam would ever admit to, he managed to lift his chin from his chest, following the line of those spare legs to the body and finally the face attached. Gabriel was watching him, hands pillowing his head against the arm of the couch and golden-brown hair in desperate need of a comb. For the space of a few heartbeats, Gabriel and Sam just looked at one another. Then the shorter man tipped his lips in that infuriating smirk and said, “Morning, Sasquatch.”

Just like that, every memory of the night previous came rushing back, without even the fog of alcohol to cloud the harshness of reality. Sam’s eyes widened and he shoved Gabriel’s feet from his lap, ignoring the man’s protests. He jumped up, grimacing at the pain the movement shot through his skull, and stared with horror at his teacher spread out on the sofa in his living room after a night spent cuddling after sex. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that they hadn’t actually been cuddling, nor had there been any real sex, simply sex-like activities. That little voice of reason was quickly drowned by the rising panic. “This didn’t happen,” he finally managed to force the words out, his hand waving frantically between them. “It couldn’t, so it didn’t.”

Despite all his protests, Sam didn’t need any acknowledgement from Gabriel to know that it had, in fact, happened. He could still feel that rawness in his throat and if he looked down, he was sure he would recognize the stain on his shirt, matching the one on the floor just in front of the middle cushion of the beat up couch. He wondered briefly how much a rug was going to cost, because that particular fluid, once dried, was tough to scrub off wood. Gabriel straightened, his feet perilously close to the incriminating evidence on the floor, and stretched his arms above his head, faint popping noises loud in the silence of the room. Then he dropped his hands to his knees, settling back in the couch with a cat-like grin. “Oh, it happened, kiddo,” he gave that unnecessary confirmation. “It happened, and you were so insistent about it, too!”

Sam couldn’t hold back the choked cry of mortification, shoving his hands into his hair. Yes, he remembered that too, his eagerness to have that dick in his mouth. So much for praying that Gabriel had been too far gone to remember. It seemed the man’s recollection of the night was at least as good as his own, and Sam suddenly envied his brother’s less developed skills of memorization. When Dean drank, he could forget, but Sam? Oh, no, good enough to ease the pain while it was happening, but as soon as he woke up, everything and anything came back in full force, including whatever stupid actions he’d taken while his inhibitions were dulled. It was why he usually stopped after just a few drinks and was Gabriel talking to him? Sam dragged his attention back to his unwanted companion.

“…on the rebound. I’m not picky, really,” Gabriel finished with a shrug. 

Sam blinked at the man in confusion. Gabriel only smiled, looking for all the world as if the situation were completely normal, and not the utter clusterfuck that Sam knew it to be. “W-what?” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes, one hand coming up to comb idly through that mess of hair. Then he let out a sigh, his hand falling back to the couch. “I’m having a shit month, right? And you clearly have a crush on my brother—“

“I don’t have a crush on your brother!” Sam protested even as he felt the flush rise to his cheeks. “We’ve barely talked and even when we did, it wasn’t…” His words faltered and finally trailed off as Gabriel simply stared at him, one brow arched doubtfully on an otherwise blank face. Silence stretched awkward between them.

“Are you done?” Gabriel asked. Sam hesitated, but jerked a quick nod. It wasn’t a confirmation that the other man had been right, not really. Neither was it the denial that Sam wished he could get out without looking like a complete idiot. “Good,” Gabriel said and pushed himself from the couch, rolling his neck a bit. “Seriously, I’m getting too old for this shit,” Sam thought he heard the man mutter, but Gabriel was already walking away, making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam followed him, much more slowly and only as far as the first counter, watching the man rummage through cabinets until he finally discovered the box of Lucky Charms Dean had hidden behind Sam’s healthier cereals. 

Sam moved to the fridge, pulling out the orange juice and chugging it straight from the carton. The juice washed away the flavor of alcohol and morning breath and other, less savory things that Sam was refusing to allow himself to think about, leaving behind only an echo of sharp citrus tang. “Cabinet over the sink, top right,” Sam said when Gabriel gave him a questioning look, and tried to remind himself of the seriousness of his situation when he saw Gabriel jumping the few inches it took for him to reach the bowls. Because it really was funny when a grown man was too short to fix his own breakfast. Gabriel gave him a dirty look at the snort of laughter Sam wasn’t quite able to stifle. He pretended not to notice by turning to put the juice back in the fridge. 

Bowl and cereal in hand, Gabriel moved to the table, making himself quite easily at home. “So,” he said, apparently ready to continue the conversation now that he had food, or something like it, “we agree you’ve got a crush on my brother.” 

Sam didn’t answer, just lowered himself to the chair across from his teacher, stomach churning too much to actually eat and if it wasn’t for the relief of flavor in his mouth he knew he’d be regretting that orange juice just now. But he was unable to resist the morbid fascination he had for the discussion. He really was a masochist. Gabriel was systematically pulling each marshmallow from the box, filling his bowl little by little, and Sam should stop him because Dean was going to be pissed. But screw Dean anyway, for making out with the one guy Sam felt any kind of attraction to in … quite some time actually, and the bastard wasn’t even gay. So he watched with a vicious little pleasure as Gabriel plucked every rainbow, every clover, every pot of gold from the brightly colored box. “My brother isn’t going to give you the time of day, not the way you want him to,” Gabriel said, and Sam stared at him blankly for the space of a few heartbeats, trying to get his mind back on track and off the subtle revenge. 

It clicked sometime between Gabriel pouring milk over the marshmallows and taking that first bite, just what the other man was talking about. Sam felt his cheeks heat up and he turned away, examining the wall and trying to keep the rest of his face, at least, from giving away too much of his scrambled thoughts. Gabriel didn’t seem to notice, his eyes glowing with child-like delight at each bite he took of his Lucky Charms-sans-the-charms. Or were those marshmallows the luck? Sam didn’t really care but he hoped the man would get a cavity. Or four. “I’m not saying you’re right or wrong, but I know you saw Castiel with Dean last night,” Sam pointed out. As much as the sight pained him, if he tried to look on the bright side, really really tried, then he could be a tiny bit hopeful that Castiel hadn’t straight up punched his brother.

Gabriel waved off that small flame of hope though. “Yeah so? Dean was drunk. Men do stupid things when they’re drunk.” He waved a finger between himself and Sam, a clear case in point. “Castiel’s a sweetheart, but he’s a religious nut. I bet he’s at church right now praying for their souls, ‘cause believe me, kiddo, my brother has probably convinced himself he’s going to hell over the one kiss.” 

Sam shook his head, remembering Dean’s face when he’d found out that his younger brother was gay. It wasn’t the only reason that he disagreed with Gabriel’s conclusion, though he might not admit it aloud. Because if Sam was right, and Castiel had started that kiss, it meant he still had a chance, however slim. “You don’t know my brother. There’s a reason it took ten years for me to come out to him.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened as he swallowed another spoonful a cereal. “Ten years?” he echoed, and shook his head. “Here I thought I was a slacker, waiting until I was seventeen to rebel against my family.” 

Sam shook his head a bit, not bothering to point out that admitting to your family that you were gay wasn’t exactly an act of rebellion. He propped his chin in one hand and blindly rubbed at his eyes with the other. “All I’m saying is that my brother is the macho type. Getting drunk just lets him fall in even easier with girls.” He let his hand drop to the table and looked to Gabriel, trying to communicate with just the look in his eyes, just the kind of guy Dean really was. 

Gabriel didn’t seem to care, just munching down on the damn marshmallows a with that tilt to his brows that Sam had come to learn meant the other man had something mischievous in mind. As soon as the professor finished his bite, he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head so that Sam heard the light crack of his bones. Then Gabriel let his hands fall back to the table, hard enough for the rickety legs to slide a bit against the linoleum flooring. “Alright than, kiddo, since you’re so intent on interrupting my every attempt at a proposition, let’s have some real fun then, yeah?”

Sam settled back in his chair, frowning at the smaller man. “I don’t like your fun,” he told his teacher point blank. “It makes bad things happen, like not being able to trust the food at my favorite diner.”

The other man grinned at him. “Makes good things happen too,” he replied with a lewd wink that brought more than a few unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind. Sam felt his ears heat up, then his entire face when Gabriel laughed. “Seriously, though,” Gabriel said, and Sam doubted the man had been serious for any two minutes at a time, “just a bit of fun. Tiny bit, that’s all.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, squinting one eye to look through the small space between and grinning in that charming, unrepentant manner he had that said he knew he’d get his way sooner or later. Sam sighed, figuring he’d save himself some trouble by just giving in now, and motioned with a tired sweep of one hand for the other man to continue. “I say my bro’s the one who was shocked dumb by yours, not a hard thing to do really, bless his heart. You say yours would never do such a thing. Fact is, we saw what we saw, so one of us has to be right, right?”

“That sums it up nicely,” Sam answered dryly and tried very hard not to feel that pang of hurt that came when he thought of Castiel and Dean together.

“I thought so,” Gabriel grinned and continued, “So let’s bet on it.”

Sam frowned, straightening in his chair. “Bet what, exactly?” 

“Like you don’t already know, you clever little boy,” Gabriel cooed to him. “I say, Dean started it all, no matter how drunk, and you get me off a few nights a week for, oh, let’s say, the next month.”

Sam stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor in his rush. “That is not going to happen,” he snapped, his hands gripping the edge of the table tightly enough to show the white in his knuckles. There was no way he was going to end up as another one of Gabriel’s level whatevers. He respected himself too much for that shit.

Gabriel was unimpressed. His smile didn’t even fade, damn him. “If you’re so certain of your brother’s tastes, it shouldn’t be a hard bet to take, but your choice. Guess I’ll just have to relegate myself to longing sighs and meaningful stares across the classroom.” He demonstrated then, his eyes growing soulfully wide as he pouted and let out the deepest sigh Sam had ever heard outside the occasional daytime soap. 

It was just a stunt, he was sure, though that certainty faded with each soul-deep sigh Gabriel pushed from his lungs. “Fine,” he snapped, the idea of an entire semester of the other man’s over-acting too much to bear. He dropped back to his chair, disappointed that he’d given in so easily to Gabriel’s games. “But when I win, you never mention this, or last night, ever again.”

“Deal,” Gabriel sang, jumping from his own chair and rounding the table before Sam even had enough time to be shocked by the sudden agreement. The shorter man plopped himself in Sam’s lap, ignoring the dangerous creak of the chair beneath the added weight as he threw his arms around Sam’s neck. “Seal it with a kiss?” Sam stood quickly, Gabriel’s arms slipping so that the other man landed on the floor with a sharp grunt of pain. If Sam took any pleasure in finally catching his teacher off guard, it was ruined by the man’s careless attitude. He shrugged, the dropped the rest of the way back so that he was lying on the floor with his hands behind his head. “Suit yourself. Those pretty lips will be mine soon enough anyway.”

It was only then, with his face burning with embarrassment, that it occurred to Sam that he could simply kick the man out of his home. And here he was supposed to be the smart one.


	19. The Pastor, The Panic, and that Naughty Little Picture

Dean stirred slightly, grimacing at the feel of hard wood beneath him. His head was already aching so he figured he could wait a few more minutes before chancing opening them to the world. He could wait that long to find out what floor he'd passed out on the night before. He could hear movement nearby, the rustling of clothing, the measured fall of footsteps, and the soft clicking of a lighter coming to life followed by the too-familiar scent of cigarette smoke.

"Decided to be alive now, have you?" a faintly accented voice asked and Dean felt rather than heard the man settle down next to him. Not a floor then, he guessed. He didn't answer, just taking shallow breaths and trying not to let the smoke upset his stomach any further than the hangover was.

Several minutes passed, the stranger smoking in silence and Dean concentrating on trying not to die. His foot slipped, hitting the floor with a dull, heavy thud. A bench then, he concluded, and inside a building. "Should you really be smoking in here?" he croaked, reaching out blindly from the back of the bench so he could put some kind of effort into sitting up.

"Why? Are you going to tell on me, then?" the stranger asked, and Dean didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was being made fun of. Perhaps on some other day, when he was a little less feeling the effects of too much drinking the night before, he might be more annoyed. For now, he considered himself lucky to just be upright, even if some foreign asshole was going to be screwing with him.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, Dean thought for sure he was still somehow passed out, and shook his head once just to test the theory. All it did was aggravate the pain and he groaned, rubbing one hand over his face. "A church?" he questioned, the words still halting but at least he didn't sound like he'd been gargling with glass chips anymore.

"Well, my son," and Dean just knew the man was using the term ironically, "where better to go when you've hit the bottom?"

Dean wanted to roll his eyes, but it seemed like too much effort at the moment. So he settled for turning a disbelieving look to the man, which may have morphed to outright shock when he saw the classic clergy collar around the man's throat. "You're a preacher?"

The man took a long drag on his cigarette, head tilted up and away just enough for him to manage to stare down his slightly crooked nose at Dean. "You're a drunk. I don't go around announcing your occupation as if it were a crime to be such." He took another drag, tipping back his head to blow the smoke towards the high ceiling and ignoring Dean's protests that he was not a drunk. "Besides, I am a pastor, boy. Different breed entirely."

Dean shook his head, then looked back to the man. "But you're smoking, inside…" he trailed off awkwardly, one finger making a circle in the air to indicate the whole of the church. Wasn't there some kind of religious law against that sort of thing?

"I am not smoking," the man actually looked offended by the suggestion even though he held the cigarette with natural ease between two fingers. "I am lighting candles."

"There aren't any candles in here," Dean pointed out after a quick survey of the large, pew-lined room.

The man shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with Dean's conclusion. "Judging from the stench of alcohol riding heavy on that leather jacket of yours, I would say you're still just a bit intoxicated. Let us write up your delusions to that, shall we?" Dean watched the man take a last pull on his cigarette and crush the end against the end of a black boot he was sure no clergyman should be wearing. Then he stood, dropping the butt into his jacket pocket and stretching his arms above his head for a moment before smoothing his light hair back from his face. The man looked down at Dean, still sitting speechless on the pew. "If you are planning to stay for the wedding, I suggest cleaning up first. Otherwise, Castiel has already left, so you will need to call for a cab."

And just like that, the man was gone, whistling an aimless tune as he strode down the aisle and disappeared through a door behind the podium. Dean groaned again, letting the wave of nausea pass as he pressed his hand to his head. How'd he even get to a church of all places anyway? Castiel, the man had said. Dean frowned as he tried to remember some part of the night before. He'd gotten pissed and stormed from the set, stayed pissed the whole drive to the Crossroads and through the first few rounds. Finally decided to get Sam over, and… Dean's frown deepened. Castiel had showed up instead.

He bolted to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain the sudden movement sent to his head, and stared straight ahead, eyes wide but not seeing the church. Instead, images of Castiel flitted through his mind, as fast as a runaway train and just as surely headed for disaster. Dean shoved away from the pew, almost running from the church. He knew a moment of disorientation as he tried to figure out just where the hell he was, not at all made better by the sun breaking over the tree line, then he ran, as if by so doing he could leave last night and every memory of it in a drunken haze back at that stupid church.

The weekend was spent hopping from motel to motel in LA. Having remembered the taste of Castiel on his lips, the clean sweet flavor somehow stayed with him despite any and all efforts to remove it. He panicked. He knew his brother was worried that he hadn't kept to the schedule he'd been following for the last few months. Fourteen missed calls and 3 voicemails in varying degrees of concern told him clearly Sammy's feelings on his sudden and unexplained absence.

But what could he say? He wasn't about to explain that he had kissed a guy and liked it, far too much really. No, there were songs for that kind of shit. Stupid, over-hyped songs that were nothing when set up against the proper classics, and he wasn't going to be caught dead singing it. Not even dead drunk. Neither could he explain to Sam his reaction. Because despite not wanting to be in the same town as Ruby and Meg and that whole pain in the ass crew, he wasn't about to own up to what had happened outside the safety of his own mind.

He was straight. And the long line of women begging for a night with him was the proof. Even if the voice in the back of his head denied it and cleared the fog from that forbidden part of his mind enough for him to remember just how good Castiel had felt in his arms and pressed against him. Dean drowned that voice with the cries of the pleasure that he gave each of the three women he picked up over the rest of the weekend. If they all had hair like black silk, and eyes the color of a winter evening's sky, he ignored it, not even bothering to strike it up to coincidence.

Lisa was worried, asking him a few times if something had happened when he showed up to use her shower before work on Monday. He only shook his head, barely acknowledging even Ben long enough to wave bye on his way out the door.

He could tell by the smile that Ruby sent him that she fully planned on ruining another day of takes. This time, there would be no escape for him. Dean figured he was lucky enough that Crowley had let him walk out the one time. He didn't think the man would let him get away with it again, no matter how pissed he got or how much Ruby purposely screwed things up. No, this time, Dean would have to do something to distract the bitch long enough to give a good scene.

He was limited with what he could get away with doing though, Crowley not being a man who enjoyed adjustments to a scene that he hadn't made himself. So Dean used his hands and fingers, brushing and stroking with light touches that left other women gasping in pleasure. It seemed to work for the first few minutes, but Ruby was too much like himself and had been in porn long enough to know all the same tricks. She sent him a smile over her bare shoulder that lit a flame of rage in his chest, then continued on to screw up the next three shots. Crowley was already giving Dean dark looks, already snapping at the crew and his assistant.

Crowley called for a break and Dean took the opportunity to grab some water, trying to cool some of the anger that had plagued him since he woke in that church and had only grown worse over the last pair of hours. Garth stood nearby, fiddling with his phone and mumbling under his breath. Dean remembered then that Garth had been messing with his phone, and quickly pulled it from his jacket pocket, scrolling through his address book. His lip curled with annoyance as every contact passed by, some numbers familiar, some less so, but none of the names he knew. Lisa's number was filed under 'Aunt Marie' and he couldn't be certain, but he thought it was Gabriel's that had been changed to 'Jean Luc'. Castiel was 'Princess', Dean had already figured that much, and very quickly he changed it back, only just stopping himself from deleting the number entirely. Sam was… he wasn't even sure how to pronounce the name. Padlock? Padowan?

Dean dropped the phone back into his pocket just as Crowley was calling to reset the scene. He took the long way around the room, making sure to slap Garth hard on the back of the head. He ignored the other man's cry of pain and accusatory pout. Stupid punk. One look at Ruby and he knew he was in for another few hours of torture. One look at Crowley and he knew the director wouldn't let it last that long, which was by no means good news. They began the scene again, the movements almost robotic by now, and Dean thought frantically, trying to come up with some way to get Ruby past this fucking scene.

He closed his eyes against her tanned skin and long hair, trying to picture any one of the three nameless women he's spent the weekend screwing. Unbidden but not really a surprise, the image of Castiel danced behind his lids. Dean might not remember much of that night, but his imagination could fill in any blanks, and apparently it decided he needed an assist. An entire scenario unfolded in his mind, of Castiel kneeling in front of him, lips pink and parted and gasping with pleasure, skin pale from a lifetime spent inside a library flushed a soft rose and short hair mussed from Dean's fingers. He should stop it, open his eyes and come back to reality, however fucked it was, because this was Castiel and Castiel was a guy, and didn't he just spend the entire weekend proving that he was straight and that one fucking kiss meant nothing, especially a drunken kiss, no matter how sweet and right it felt.

He kept his eyes closed anyway.

He didn't notice when Ruby moans stopped being fake, or that her hands trembled on the bed beneath her. When her arms gave out and her chest dropped, he followed blindly, wrapping an arm around her waist and imaging hard muscle rather than the soft flesh. He pressed a few kisses to her shoulder, his mind supplying a pattern of freckles he somehow knew Castiel would have and he followed it before leaning back up. He grasped her hips in both hands, pulling her back to meet each of his thrusts. He only vaguely heard her cries becoming shorter, knowing it meant that she was close, but it was Castiel's voice he imagined, those husky tones so low as to be almost a growl.

Ruby bucked back against him, nearly screaming as she came, head thrown back and fingers twisted tightly in the sheets. Dean's eyes flew open with the force of her move and he threw out an arm to catch himself before he fell completely and ruined the take. Frustration welled in his chest, because he'd been close, so close, and the bitch had brought him back to reality. She collapsed to the mattress, and he followed, trying to keep in character and forcing himself not to pull away from the sloppy kiss he knew would follow.

"Cut!" Crowley called, and Dean was off the bed and in a robe in near record time. Ruby hardly stirred, a lazy smile curling her too-red lips. "Perfect," Crowley said, and Dean heard the "about bloody time," that was probably supposed to be more directed to the camera crew. A glance around the room, showed more than a few of the men shifting uncomfortably, and when someone tried to point out that neither Ruby nor Dean had managed to say their lines, Crowley cut him off sharply. "They're unimportant," he snapped. "Don't change a fucking thing."

"I could go for another take," Ruby purred from the bed, rolling over with a contented sigh. "We should really get those lines said." Thankfully, Crowley ignored the bitch.

Dean's mouth drew tight, and he looked from the aroused crewmen, some trying to sneak off to handle the problem, down to Ruby, looking for once to be thoroughly fucked out. It was like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over him, and Dean realized the magnitude of what he'd just imagined, however necessary it had apparently been. He shoved past Garth when the other man came to congratulate him, making for the restroom down the hall as if he were racing. He threw open the door, tossed out the current occupant, and locked against any intruders. Then he fell to his knees and lost the burger and fries he'd had for dinner the night before down the toilet.


	20. Are you there God? It's me, Castiel

Castiel prayed.

He prayed at home, knees bruising from hours spent kneeling on the hard wood of his bedroom floor, eyes closed shut against any and all distractions, including his brother’s bids for his attention, as he prayed for God to guide him through this trial.

He prayed at work, muttering soothing psalms between shelving books, and even throwing in a few of the rosary prayers he could remember from childhood.

He prayed mostly at church, head bowed as he sat on the worn and uncomfortable pew with his hands clenched tightly in his lap and his lips moving silently. The other occasional weekday parishioner passed by, perhaps even tried to speak with him, but Castiel ignored them, keeping his focus on the cleansing of his soul.

But no amount of prayer, no blessing of the church, could free him from the stain he felt growing. He and Dean had… Well, they… However he might look at it, that was a kiss. And Castiel had been far from repulsed. 

He prayed. Relief. Absolution. Sudden and irreversible amnesia specific only to that night and the days following. He prayed for something, anything, and heard nothing. So he kept praying.

Castiel didn’t bother to open his eyes when he heard the movement to his left. It was only Balthazar taking the seat next to him, and the pastor sat in silence as Castiel quietly finished this round of prayers. He lifted his head, hands clasped tightly together and eyes held straight ahead. He heard rustling, and rolled his eyes at the sound of Balthazar’s lighter coming to life. “You are smoking again,” he stated, and Balthazar grunted his confirmation. “You should not smoke, and certainly not inside the church,” Castiel continued, taking small comfort in what had become something of a routine since he’d joined this congregation. 

Balthazar shrugged and continued to puff on his cigarette. “God and I have an agreement,” the man said, sending Castiel his crooked grin. “I am guilt-free. Though I suspect the same cannot be said for you.”

Castiel wasn’t bothered that Balthazar had so easily guessed something was wrong. He’d always been told that he was a man difficult to read at best, but the pastor had, from day one, been able to tell with only a glance when something was bothering Castiel. This particular time though, he wasn’t sure he should share his concerns with the man. What would Balthazar think? It was true that the Methodist church was more accepting of homosexuals than other sects, especially the Catholics, but the same general air of disapproval flowed through their belief structure. 

And there was still the guilt.

Because Castiel knew, with the same certainty that he knew the sun would rise and the morning news would always be bad and that God did exist, that he was not gay. Which meant he had no excuse for his actions, or for his enjoyment of them.

“We don’t have confession here,” Balthazar’s words broke through Castiel’s thoughts. “But if you need to get something off your chest, I’m all ears. Literally,” he finished, pulling at one ear. Castiel smiled at the joke, somewhat in awe that, for what had to be the first time since his joining the Methodist church, Balthazar seemed truly concerned for him. 

But how to start? To confess to this and ask forgiveness aloud? Despite his belief that the right to judge belonged to God only, would Balthazar, even as a pastor, be able to listen to his confession and not think poorly of him? Castiel shook his head. “Thank you, Balthazar, but I am not prepared to discuss the situation,” he answered, knowing he sounded stiff and knowing too that Balthazar wouldn’t mind. The other man never cared that Castiel was distant, or spoke too formally, or, as Gabriel often told him, lacked basic communication skills. 

Balthazar smiled, taking his cigarette in one hand and lifting his other hand in a sign of surrender. “I understand. You wish to be alone with God.” Then he stood, slipping from the narrow pew. “I’m always here, my friend,” Balthazar said, and waved his cigarette carelessly to indicate the entire of the church, “should you ever desire a less divine presence.” He waved over his shoulder and strolled down the aisle, a faint curl of smoke from his cigarette leaving a trail behind. 

Castiel watched the man leave, then turned his gaze down, studying the floor as if he might find the clarity he sought in the smooth grain of the wood beneath his feet. He wasn’t really surprised to find nothing. Grabbing the back of the pew in front of him, Castiel pulled himself to standing, straightened his trench and slipped from the pew to leave the church. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Castiel closed his hand around it, but didn’t bother pulling the cell out as he headed into the parking lot. 

Most likely, it was only Gabriel and he had no desire to speak with his brother. He could not help the thought that Gabriel was to blame for his situation, at least in part. Castiel had never longed for something, or so strongly desired another. He never had cravings. He never thought himself so sinful that constant prayer could not ease his soul. Then Castiel got a call for help, and there was Dean, his own personal poison apple. So it all came back to Gabriel. His looseness with women, that odd code of his, and all that drinking! His sheer lack of morality was somehow rubbing off on Castiel.

Castiel blinked against the sun’s late evening rays as he got into his car and started the short trip home, feeling a little guilty about where his thoughts had led him. After all, it wasn’t really Gabriel’s fault that Dean had kissed him, just as it wasn’t his brother’s fault that he had enjoyed it. Castiel pulled into the driveway, frowning at the strange black car parked at the front curb. He scanned the area as he got out of his car, but he only saw a child playing in the yard three houses down. Still, Castiel stayed alert until he started up the steps. He stopped on the first one, shoulders tight and one hand clenching around the keys in his pocket as he frowned up at his visitor.

The man seemed not to care, standing tall and straight as any soldier, face stern as he held Castiel’s gaze. “Good evening, brother,” Michael said after several tense moments. 

It was only because he had had years to shake off the fear that used to paralyze his limbs when Michael used that tone that Castiel was able to urge himself forward. He didn’t bother to nod at the other man, or greet him as politely as he might any other day. If he had been given to hyperbole, Castiel might say that this a “when it rains, it pours,” sort of situation, because he certainly did not feel mentally capable of facing off with this particular older brother. He found himself wishing quite fervently for Gabriel’s company.

But he said none of this, just quietly turned the key in the lock and pushed his door open. Michael did not wait for an invitation, perhaps because he knew none would be coming, and he followed Castiel inside, even closing the door behind himself before turning a disapproving eye on the interior of his house. Gabriel told Castiel many times before that the best defense was a good offense, and he decided not to wait for Michael to once more condemn his life. “I had not thought to see you again so soon, brother,” Castiel said, turning his back as he pulled off his coat and hung it in the hall closet. “I am, after all, a lost cause.”

Michael either ignored or did not notice the brittle tone Castiel had used, standing stiffly with his hands in his pockets as if he thought that he might catch a disease from touching something. Castiel could admit that his house was lacking some of its usual order and cleanliness now that Gabriel was staying with him, so he didn’t take offense at the attitude. “I would have agreed with you several days ago,” Michael said, his lips curling in disgust when he spotted the empty beer cans Gabriel had left cluttering the coffee table. Castiel resisted the urge to gather the trash, instead just walking to his kitchen. He didn’t drink, but just then he was giving the idea of doing so serious consideration. Michael was visibly irritated with Castiel’s attitude and it leaked into his voice as he continued to speak. “Then I receive a call from Gabriel. He tells me something is wrong with you, that you spend all your free time in prayer and that you refuse to speak to him, or hardly anyone.” 

There was a pause, and Michael’s footsteps came into the kitchen, stopping just steps from where Castiel was standing, pretending to examine the contents of his cabinet. Gabriel had gone shopping, and Castiel knew he wouldn’t eat any of the countless sweets that filled all the available shelves in his kitchen, but he needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise, he was certain Michael would notice the trembling in his fingers and take it as a sign of weakness.

How could he have thought to hide it?

“Castiel,” and he recognized that tone. Michael pitied him. Michael, so sure in his righteousness, so firm with his faith, always knew when there was wrong. As if he had been sent from Heaven to destroy all the sinners, an avenging angel.

But Castiel knew his brother was no angel and so that pity made him angry. “Leave,” he said, his voice soft, but he could tell that Michael had heard, even if the other man made no move to do so. “Michael, go home,” Castiel ordered, voice gaining strength even though his hands still trembled. He slammed the cabinet door and spun on his heel, at last facing his brother, but said nothing more. The sudden move allowed him a glimpse of something he had never before seen. Michael was surprised. For a brief moment, Castiel regretted his action. Perhaps Michael had come to make amends, rather than more condemnations.

His brother’s face quickly cleared though, and Castiel’s doubt with it. “I foolishly believed you had repented,” Michael spat, and Castiel shivered at the coldness of his words. He stalked towards the door, pulling it open violently but pausing just at the threshold to look back once more at Castiel. “One day, you will regret the decisions you are making now. Be sure that you are not so far gone that even God will not forgive what you have become.” And he was gone, none of the anger in the action that Castiel could sense in his words. A good hard slam of the door would have given him some comfort.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter and pressed his fingers over his eyes, trying to still the shaking. Castiel breathed deep, and focused on the story of Job, remembering the trials that man had long ago endured. Job had kept his faith through everything. Surely, Castiel’s own problems weren’t so bad as poor Job’s had been. He knew right from wrong, knew that God would always watch over and protect him, would always guide his path. Even so, he stayed as he was, grasping at his faith and pulling it close, determined now more than ever not to allow himself to be shaken. Not by Michael. Not by Gabriel. 

Not by Dean Winchester. 

Not by his own feelings.


	21. Gabriel in Three Parts

The lights were off when Gabriel walked through the front door. He leaned back with one hand on the door frame to look behind him to the driveway. That was Castiel’s car parked there, lit up for a brief moment as the cab disappeared down the street. Gabriel glanced back into the darkened house, and shrugged. No point in worrying really, Castiel had probably just locked himself up in his room again. He walked inside, kicking the door closed and twisting the lock. He whistled tunelessly, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch.

Frankly, he was a little disappointed in his family. It had already been two weeks, and Sam wouldn’t pay up on their bet until they knew for sure that Dean had started that little incident between their brothers. Since Dean wasn’t answering his phone calls, and Castiel was less than forthcoming, it meant no nookie for Gabriel. So he’d done what any rational, loving man would do when his little brother was lost in a crisis. 

He’d called his older brother. 

Michael might have been busy, and generally a hard-assed bastard, but he had a soft spot for Castiel that he’d never had for Gabriel. It had taken a few days, and an hour of his life being talked down to that he would never get back, but he’d finally managed to find the right combination of “Castiel”, “shame”, and “regret” that convinced Michael to step in. Gabriel wasn’t actually sure what his older brother might do, but somehow he had expected results sooner. 

He didn’t bother to turn on the kitchen light, making his way by memory to the fridge. The sound of the door opening was loud in the silence and he reached in for a beer. Noticing a slight movement out the corner of his eyes, he jerked up, cold bottle gripped tight and door still hanging open. Then he let out a sigh of relief when he realized it was only Castiel. “Hey, bro,” Gabriel said, laughing a bit as he finally allowed the fridge door to close. In the dark again, he moved to the table, sitting in the chair across from his brother. 

He hardly had time for his eyes to adjust when Castiel spoke. “You had no right,” the man said, an underlying tone to the words that Gabriel had never heard from his little brother, and so made it difficult for him to identify.

He lifted the beer to his lips, taking a sip and a moment to arrange his face in his most innocent of expressions. Then he leaned back in the chair and set the bottle down, fingers playing lightly in the condensation building up on the label. “What are you talking about?” he asked, keeping the question light.

It was very clear that Castiel wasn’t buying the act, but that wasn’t actually new so it didn’t really bother Gabriel. Castiel stood, glaring at him in a way that he could actually feel, even in the mostly dark room. “I do not know what you told Michael,” Castiel bit out, and Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but his brother wouldn’t let him. “I do not care to know. My life is not a toy for you to play with or to break.”

Gabriel leaned his chair back and reached for the wall, slapping at the switch until light flooded the room. Castiel was nearing a breakthrough, he just knew it, and he wanted to see the other man’s face when it happened. He turned a grin to his brother. Castiel had gone still, the kind of still that meant he was really a raging boil of emotion who simply didn’t know how to express any of it. Gabriel took that to mean that no other words would be escaping, so he decided to push it. “Cas,” he started, trying very hard to sound sincere. “Is this about what happened with Deano?”

He almost wished he’d pulled out his phone to record it, but as it was he would just have to preserve Castiel’s reaction with only his memory. All the blood drained from his brother’s face, and Castiel took a step back, as if he’d thought for just one moment that he could run away. Then his brows furrowed and he looked away. “You saw… you saw Dean k-kiss me?” It was so difficult! Really, playing the concerned older brother wasn’t exactly second nature to him, especially given that he’d finally uncovered the information that would grant him the release he’d been so desperately needing! But Castiel had stammered, and that in itself was strange enough. Castiel was very clearly spoken, except in the worst of times when he just said nothing. Stammering was heading into an area Gabriel had never had to handle before. For a brief moment, he wondered if he hadn’t finally managed to stir something in his brother that there was no coming back from.

But Castiel shook it off, literally. His brother shook his head and stepped back again, taking deep breaths. “This has nothing to do with Dean. You called Michael.” 

And finally, like a bolt of lightning, Gabriel recognized that tone. Castiel was hurting. He frowned and stood. “Cas,” and this time the concern was genuine, “what happened?” He reached for Castiel, but his brother pulled away, the move as effective as a slap to the face. 

“I am a disappointment,” Castiel said, his voice cold and something else, something so out of place with this man that Gabriel almost didn’t hear the rest because he was too busy trying to make sense of what his brother wasn’t saying. “I am a lost cause.” Castiel’s lips twisted in a way that Gabriel hadn’t seen since they were kids, then his brother turned to the door. He paused for a moment, not looking back to say, “My life is not your concern,” then he was gone. Gabriel could hear the soft footsteps, up the stairs and down the hall, then silence but for the steady ticking of the clock on the wall above the door. 

Guilt, Gabriel decided, was a strange thing, and not just because he so rarely felt it. Guilt weighed on him, constricting his chest so that breathing became more of a chore than it should be. Guilt was difficult. He felt he should apologize. But guilt offered no explanation as to why he should apologize, only that he must tell Castiel the words. 

Anger, on the other hand was simple. Anger, he understood. Anger didn’t encourage him to head up those stairs with the desire to re-enact every brotherly love story ever created, falling to his knees and begging forgiveness for… for what? For pushing his brother to face something he didn’t want to face? Because Gabriel was many, many things, mostly naughty, but he wasn’t stupid. If Castiel was locking himself up and throwing himself to the mercy of an absent God, it was because he’d felt something when Dean had grabbed him. Dean must have too, if he really hadn’t been home since. Maybe if it was his concern, he’d have done something more than call in Michael just to win a bet. As it was, he figured he’d done Castiel a favor! If his brother decided not to see this in the best possible light, well clearly that was his decision, wasn’t it?

Gabriel realized he was still standing in the kitchen, beer growing slowly warmer on the table, clock still ticking incessantly. He needed to leave, and screw Castiel for being an ungrateful prick. He had better things to do.

Or better people anyway.

Having successfully drowned every last bit of guilt with self-righteous anger, Gabriel grinned and let it all go away. Because he had won the bet, and now, oh now! Sam was going to have to pay up. So he left, grabbing his jacket on the way out and hitting speed dial for the taxi company. 

Thirty-two minutes later, Gabriel was knocking on the door to Sam’s house. When there was no answer, he knocked again, using what he liked to call his ‘cop knock’. Finally the lights came on and he could hear shuffling inside, then a muffled curse, and finally a loud, “God dammit, Gabriel!” The door opened, Sam looking adorably ruffled with hair sticking in every which direction, a hole in the shoulder of a worn Metallica shirt, obviously an old gift from his brother, and pajama pants that hung several inches short of his ankles. “What the hell, Gabriel?” he snapped.

Gabriel looked him up and down, then clicked his tongue. “What the hell with you, Sam?” he asked, pushing his way inside before turning back on the much taller man. “What kind of loser is in bed by ten?”

Sam groaned and pushed the door closed, locking it almost as an afterthought. “The kind of loser that has class at eight the next morning,” he snarled, shoving one hand through his hair and stifling a yawn. “What sort of teacher is an asshole enough to wake that loser up?”

Gabriel grinned, spreading his hands out to either side. “The kind of asshole teacher who comes to collect on a bet!”

Sam went from annoyed to confused to embarrassed in quick order, and Gabriel’s grin widened at the brilliant flush that went all the way down the man’s neck, disappearing beneath his frayed collar. “Castiel…” he trailed off, his flush deepening so that Gabriel could almost feel the heat radiating from his face alone.

“That’s right, Sasquatch. According to my dear brother Castiel,” and if the words were a little less affectionate than usual Sam didn’t notice, “Dean kissed him in a drunken passion.” Gabriel shucked his jacket and kicked off his shoes. He hadn’t gone out drinking but maybe once in the last two weeks, even spending most of this night at a half-price matinee. So he couldn’t be sure that every woman in town still hated him, but since his mind was preoccupied with Sam’s too talented mouth, Gabriel hadn’t even thought to look for satisfaction elsewhere. Sober, abstinent, and perhaps the most terrifying, monogamous. Sam was a good influence on him.

Which meant that it was definitely time to be bad.

But when he looked back to the other man, Sam was still standing there, cheeks only slightly less red now. “I haven’t heard anything from Dean about that,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest in stubborn refusal.

Gabriel leaned against the back of the couch, pulling his socks off one at a time. “Technicality,” he replied. He absolutely would not allow Sam wriggle his way out of the deal tonight. “Castiel doesn’t lie. God would smite him down, you know.” 

Sam frowned his disapproval. “You shouldn’t make fun of people’s religion, even if you don’t agree with it, and for God’s sake would you stop undressing! Crap!” He shoved both hands through his hair and turned away, suddenly finding the wall very interesting.

Hands still on the button of his jeans, Gabriel chuckled. Even from halfway across the room, he could see the tips of Sam’s ears glowing bright red under that shaggy mop of hair. “Aw, Sammy, there’s no need for yelling. Yet.” Sam turned back to him enough to give Gabriel an exasperated look, which he ignored. “If you wanted to undress me yourself, all you had to do was ask,” he teased.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re delusional,” he said and walked to past Gabriel to the stairs.

“I’m horny, too!” Gabriel called after Sam’s retreating figure, and grinned when the other man tripped on the bottom step. “Guess which one is easier to handle?” Sam straightened himself then turned to glare at Gabriel again, face bright red. Gabriel’s grin widened. “Give you a hint,” he sang, and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on top of his jacket, “It’s the one you can actually handle.”

“Gabriel!” Sam protested. “I told you it’s not happening. You can take the couch for tonight,” he motioned to it with one arm, “but I’m going to sleep, and so should you.”

Gabriel pouted. “Come on, Sasquatch,” he whined, following as the other man started up the stairs. “It’s been two weeks. I’m already hard!” Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to say something, but Gabriel threw his arms around Sam’s neck and pulled himself tight against the taller man. “Post-sex sleep is always the best sleep.”

Sam dropped his arms, letting his hands rest on Gabriel’s hips and tipped his head to the ceiling with a sigh. “You’re not letting this go, are you?” Gabriel recognized resignation when he heard it, and he shook his head with a grin, wriggling against Sam until he felt the other man’s response. His one night with Sam had been his only homosexual experience, but it had been enough to make him realize he’d been missing out. “Fine,” Sam snapped, setting Gabriel back at arm’s length with his hands still at the shorter man’s waist. “Just once though, to get you to sleep.” 

Gabriel snorted, letting Sam lead the way to his room. “As if one time could knock me out.”

Sam pulled Gabriel around, pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed and looking down with a confident smirk that Gabriel had never before seen on his face. “Once is all I need. Trust that.” 

And he did, the shivers running down his spine at the soft-spoken promise. 

Sam’s hands were large. Gabriel had never thought that feeling small would be such a turn on, but he’d only ever been with women, small and delicate and gentle on him. Even Kali, with her many kinks, hadn’t brought him to the edge so quickly, or kept him hanging there for so long. The fingers on him now were rough, and for the first time Gabriel wondered just what Sam did when he wasn’t at school, or indulging Gabriel’s whims. He didn’t wonder long though. As soon as Sam’s mouth touched him, tongue hot and wet, all coherent thought flew out the window. 

It could have been ten minutes, or ten hours. Sam wouldn’t let him come, that broad hand wrapped at the base of his cock keeping Gabriel tightly in check, and he would never admit later to the frustrated cries that ripped from his throat. He pulled at Sam’s hair, trying to urge the other man faster or harder or anything that would let him fall, but it only earned him one of those massive hands on his wrists, holding them so tight that he couldn’t shake loose. But even with one hand, the pleasure was so intense that it bordered on agony. Unable to touch his companion, Gabriel’s frustration grew, and he ignored the tears building in his eyes to lean up as far as he could. He bit the hand holding his wrists hard enough to taste blood.

Sam grunted, teeth grazing Gabriel’s too sensitive skin and hand loosening only slightly, but it was enough. Gabriel came hard, whimpering around the hand clenched between his teeth and eyes shut tight against the waves of pleasure cascading over every nerve ending. He might have passed out for a moment, Gabriel couldn’t be sure. When he finally opened his eyes, lids heavy with the desire to just sleep, Sam was leaning over him, mouth red and hair mussed, a damp rag carefully wiping sweat and spit and spunk from Gabriel’s stomach and cock. Though the touch was gentle, Gabriel hissed at each brush against his sensitized flesh. “What about you?” Gabriel asked when he noticed that Sam was still hard under his thin cotton pants. He was too tired to even be concerned that his voice was rough from screaming. 

Sam’s laugh was soft. “I can take care of myself. I’m not an animal like you,” he replied, holding up his hand. Even in the dim light spilling in from the hallway, Gabriel could see the dark imprint where he had drawn blood on the back of Sam’s hand. He couldn’t say anything though, just nodding as exhaustion overwhelmed him and he let his eyes close. He forgot about Castiel and their fight, and his guilt. He forgot that he had work in the morning, however far away or near that might be. He forgot even that Sam was right there, gentle hands still cleaning their mess. Gabriel just gave in to the darkness and slept more peacefully now than after even the most acrobatic sex he’d had with any woman.


	22. Dean's Dilemma

Dean leaned against the scratchy pillows of his motel bed, letting the Magic Fingers sooth against his back as he watched the well-pleased pair of girls leave the room. “Call us again sometime,” the short one had offered. “Anytime,” the other had encouraged with a sexy little wink. Dean grinned back, the self- satisfied grin of one who knew he was good at what he could do, and he almost laughed when the tall one swooned. 

But they were gone, leaving him alone in the room with the knowledge that he would never be calling either of them back. Hell, he couldn’t even remember their names. Without the distraction that the two could provide, Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his life. He didn’t normally try to think about the direction he’d been heading since his father died, because mostly it sucked. He’d always thought, “Well, as long as Sammy is good, it’s worth it.” Now, though, he let his mind wander through the might-have-beens, imagining how he would have turned out if he hadn’t taken the deal, if he had just told Alistair and his boss to shove the offer where the sun didn’t shine. 

He shook the thoughts from his head though, leaning over the edge of the bed to rifle through his bag for enough quarters to restart the Magic Fingers. Then he settled back and closed his eyes with a sigh. The fact of it all was, five years ago, there was too much going on for an eighteen year old kid to deal with. Lisa’s parents cut her off when she’d gotten pregnant her second year of law school. John had taken her in like the daughter he’d never had. It was barely a month later that he’d died, leaving Dean to try and hold them all together. Even if he’d worked two jobs and gotten Lisa to help as much as she could, he still would’ve lost the house. While Bobby might have taken in him and Sam, there was no way Dean would’ve been able to abandon Lisa like that. The offer to work in a movie, even a porno, and the money that came with it, well, at the time, it seemed like a godsend.

The bed stilled as his quarters ran out, and Dean pushed himself up and started dressing. There was no point in thinking about the past. He couldn’t change it, or change where it had brought him. Best he could manage was to live through the ride and work to something better. Dean checked out of the motel, grinning at the knowing look he got from the man behind the counter. Then he headed to Lisa’s place, ready to play house and pretend he had an apple-pie kind of life for a few days, a rare long weekend thanks to Ruby’s inability to maintain the rationality she needed to fuck up the scenes. He kept his mind carefully away from what he had to do to disrupt that rationality. 

Lisa was cooking dinner when he got to her house, dropping his bag on the floor by the door before he slipped into the kitchen to watch her work for a moment. Dean moved to stand next to her, sneaking a few bites of the steaming chicken she was shredding. Lisa slapped his hand away and he smiled at her. She didn’t smile back, but Dean ignored it as he meandered to the fridge, pulling out a cold beer and sitting down at the table to wait for the dumplings to be ready. 

“New perfume, Dean?” Lisa finally asked, and Dean paused in the middle of a drink to take in her stiff shoulders and rigid posture. “I really don’t think it suits you.”

He smirked and set down the bottle, then moved to stand behind Lisa, slipping his arms around her waist and tucking his chin into the curve of her shoulder. “Jealous? You know I love you best,” he teased, spreading his hands across her narrow hips. “I always come home to you.”

She snorted and none-to-gently dug her elbow into his side until he let her go. “Hardly,” she laughed as he moved back to the table and his beer. “I’ve known you since you were in diapers. There are things I just can’t un-see. But I am worried.” She half-turned to him, the tips of her fingers still covered with bits of chicken and pink with the heat. “Dean, what’s going on with you?”

He flashed her that same too-confident grin that come too easily on most days. “Nothing.”

Lisa sighed, cleaning her fingers carefully against a rag. “Dean…” 

“Nothing I want to talk about,” he clarified, letting the false cheer drop from his voice and turning from her to glare at the window. He shouldn’t be angry with her, he knew. She just cared about him, stupid as that was.

“Fine,” she snapped, her tone no longer gentle and coaxing. “Then just listen. I know when something’s wrong with you, Dean Winchester, and right now, something is very, very wrong.” She tossed the rag down on the counter and crossed the room until she was standing next to him, fists propped on her hips in a way that he knew meant she would take no back-talk. “I thought it was this film, but now I’m thinking something happened at home. You’re a lot of things, Dean, but you’re not a coward. Quit running away from whatever it is and man up.”

Dean said nothing, and when he reached for his beer, Lisa’s hand shot out to grip his wrist. They stayed like that for several tense moments, before he finally let out a sigh and pulled his hand away. He reached for his beer, but left it on the table, fingers tracing through the condensation. “I did something,” he told her, the words soft like he thought he could pretend he’d never said anything if he only whispered.

Lisa was quiet, waiting for him to continue. When he said nothing, she slipped into the chair next to him, hands twisting together. “Break the law?” she guessed, and he shook his head. “Hurt someone?” she tried again.

Dean considered that for a moment. His memory of that night might be vague, but he didn’t think Castiel was hurt, per say. Shocked, maybe. There was a definite response. At least, Dean thought there was. That bit got a little hazier than the rest, so he figured that would have been about the time he’d passed out. Lisa was still waiting for an answer so he slowly shook his head. 

“Well, you’re having way too much sex for it to have anything to do with Sammy,” Lisa said, leaning back in her chair and twisting a lock of hair around one finger. Dean wasn’t sure if he liked or hated that his friend knew so much about him that she could divine what his issue was with a few simple questions. Because he had no doubt that Lisa would figure it out, at least in part. So he wasn’t surprised when she finally reached her conclusion. “Oh, my god. You went and fell in love.”

He snorted. “Love is a little strong, don’t you think?” he replied, at last taking another drink of his beer. He relished the cool feel of the liquid, trying not to let the panic overwhelm him again. He’d learned his lesson, hadn’t he? Years ago with Tessa. He didn’t believe in that kind of thing anymore, least not for people like him. Dean shook his head, knowing that he was thinking about this too long, much longer than he had since his mistake with Ruby. The disturbing fantasies that crept into his mind while he played out his remaining scenes with her made them all what Crowley called “masterful acting.” The director had had to dismiss nearly a third of their already small crew when some of the guys couldn’t maintain their control. Dean should be feeling like a star, but every time he pictured Castiel to make it through another take, he felt sick, a wrenching punch to the gut that just cleared up, in case he had any confusion in the first place, how fucked it all was. And all from a kiss? One ridiculous, drunken smooch because the man’s eyes were too blue and his voice too low? He was a librarian, for Christ’s sake. And a man. Dean wouldn’t forget that, no matter how often he superimposed that face over Ruby’s. 

“You’re the one who’s running,” Lisa said with a shrug, obviously satisfied enough with thinking she knew the truth of it all. Which did nothing to help Dean whatsoever. He ducked away when she reached to ruffle his short hair, but it didn’t bother her. She just stood and moved back to her counter, humming softly as she finished messing with the chicken and switched to stirring the steaming pot on the stove. 

Minutes ticked by, marked by the clock and that nameless tune, until Dean set his beer on the table with a little more force than was strictly necessary and snapped, “So what now?” He wasn’t asking advice, because Dean Winchester did not ask for advice. It was about truth, and somehow Lisa seemed to know it, even when she shouldn’t. 

“Now, Winchester, you do what you always do when you get your ass in a bind with no clear way out.” He lifted a brow and waited for her to finish, because all he’d been doing was drinking it to numbness so he figured she couldn’t mean that. The doorbell rang, breaking the silence, and he flinched at the suddenness of it all. What fucking timing. Just when his Yoda was about to impart some mystic truth that would get him to the volcano to destroy the Horcrux. Dean frowned and took a sip of his beer as Lisa hurried to answer the front door. He was mixing his metaphors, but it bothered him more that he even knew the words. Damn it, Sammy. 

Dean knew by the rush of laughter and polite but relaxed conversation floating in from the hall, that some neighborhood mom or other was stopping by to drop Ben off after a playdate. Any other day and he might have been lurking around the hallway trying to see how hot she was. Soccer moms had a kind of calm sexuality thing going on and it was a fun game to flirt with them, since they both knew it would never amount to anything more than words and innuendos. But today, Dean couldn’t manage to dredge up the interest. At least he could paste on a smile, and grinned as the kid came tearing around the corner, his chair creaking ominously when Ben jumped into his lap and launched into a rambling discussion about some toy or other that Jimmy had but he didn’t. He listened and nodded like he knew just how it felt.

Really, he wished he had problems like the four year old. 

He kept the mask up as long as it took for them to eat dinner, hardly noticing the taste of the dumplings, or that he should have blown across his meal a few more times to prevent the scorching on his tongue. He smiled as he helped Ben get ready for bed, and all the way until the kid was passed out, drooling and hiccupping every so often in his sleep. Then he followed Lisa back to the kitchen and moved to the sink, helping her wash some dishes while he waited for her to bring the subject up once again. There was no way he’d do it on his own. 

“Did it make you happy?” she asked, after a silence that stretched through all but the toughest of the dishes, that heavy pot she’d boiled the dumplings in. “For even one, stupid, irrational moment, before you started thinking, were you happy?”

Dean was careful not to look at his friend while he dried three bowls and put them away with uncharacteristic carefulness. He didn’t have to think about the answer, because he knew it already. It wasn’t just one moment, though irrational was definitely the best word she could have used. He couldn’t say why the man made him happy in a way he hadn’t felt since before his mother had died, way back when his family was whole and things were pretty good. They’d barely exchanged enough words between the two of them to even qualify as a children’s book. He only knew that Castiel brought that feeling back, until Dean remembered key points and pushed himself away. “Yeah,” he finally answered, his voice as soft as it had been hours ago when he’d so reluctantly let her in. 

Lisa, sweet Lisa, who always loved him, mistakes and all, the best friend he’d ever had, even when he didn’t want her to be. She only nodded, smiling at him like she’d known what his answer would be all along. “Then do what you’ve always done,” she echoed her previous sentiment, and Dean finally looked to her, hoping like hell there wasn’t going to be some ill-timed interruption just now. “Own it.”

Two words. So simple, so easy. 

So damn true. 

He dropped the rag on the counter, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and shouldered into it as he left the house. Lisa didn’t say good bye, and neither did he. He didn’t stop to grab his clothes, or just one more beer. She understood what it meant, because she was Lisa and she always just seemed to know. He slid into his car with the ease of familiarity and cocked a half smile at the rumbling of the engine coming to life. He had a long drive ahead of him.


	23. Another Morning After

Sam slept on the couch, which he hated. He was really too tall for it, his feet hanging awkwardly over the end and he never could find a good way to position his arms. But Gabriel had fallen asleep in his bed, and there was just no way he’d be taking Dean’s for the night, knowing the sort of personal life Dean favored. Gabriel was right about one thing though. After taking care of himself in the restroom, Sam was tired, even more so than he’d been before the shorter man had shown up at his doorstep.

It seemed strange, that Gabriel had been so insistent on collecting on that bet tonight, and Sam could have sworn that he’d seen something in his teacher’s eyes, hiding behind the humor. Something was bothering the man. Sam groaned, punching the couch cushion into a more comfortable position before flopping back down. He hated that he knew Gabriel well enough to know when something was wrong with the man, especially since it seemed to be the first time something was really wrong with him. Something besides the normal, twisted ass that he was anyway. He closed his eyes, letting sleep overtake him despite his troubled thoughts. 

When the alarms on his phone sounded hours later, Sam woke straight away, surprised by how well rested he actually felt. In the light of early morning, he could feel the shame of what had happened. Christ! The man was his teacher! Even if it wasn’t strictly illegal, it was just plain unethical. He didn’t love the man at all, barely liked him really, and only occasionally found him sexually appealing. He groaned softly, burying his face in his hands as if he might push the memories back to some dark recess of his mind. Even if it had been obvious that Gabriel had needed the release, it didn’t mean that Sam had to be the one to give it to him. 

And remembering that Dean had been the one to kiss Castiel only made matters worse. He pushed himself from the couch and padded barefoot to the kitchen, pulling out a box of cereal that boasted “fiber!” in bright letters. He didn’t bother with milk, just sat at the table and munched on his food, mind a million miles away. Or just fifteen. The library wasn’t really that far from his house, certainly closer than the Crossroads. Even well-rested and partially fed, his brain couldn’t seem to decide where to focus his thoughts. 

There was a part of him that was ridiculously happy that Castiel hadn’t kissed Dean, and despite the consequences, he was glad to have lost the bet. Castiel wasn’t harboring some secret crush for his brother, which gave him hope. Not much hope, but more than he’d had even twelve hours ago. Those brilliant blue eyes, alight with a kindness and intelligence that Sam so rarely saw, never looked at Dean with passion or hidden longing. Sam had lost a pair of boyfriend prospects to his brother’s good looks. It had turned him off dating for a while. 

Of course, this still left him with the obvious problem that Castiel was straight. Which was still somehow better than Castiel being gay for Dean, even if it meant his own chances with the other man were slim. 

Such thoughts lead him to Dean. Sam could still remember the shock on Dean’s face when he’d come out, and the awkward weeks after. Now Dean didn’t talk with him as comfortably as before. When was the last time they’d affectionately called each other jerk and bitch? Clearly, Dean had a problem with Sam’s orientation, one that he was hoping his brother might work out on his own. He hadn’t imagined that working it out could involve Dean kissing another man, no matter how drunk he was or how attractive the man. Movement upstairs distracted his thoughts, and he listened tensely as Gabriel shuffled between rooms, apparently finding what he was looking for in the bathroom. The old pipes creaked behind the wall as water rushed through, followed quickly by the sound of the shower springing to life. Then Gabriel was singing. Loudly. Off-key. Sam didn’t even have to concentrate to make out the words, not that he recognized the song. Was that… German? He shook his head and reached for another handful of cereal. The man was tweaked. 

Sam had finished his pseudo-meal, gone upstairs to get dressed, and come back down to clean what little mess there was in his seldom used kitchen before Gabriel finally left the shower. Sam rolled his eyes. The other man was still singing, right up until he’d appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, only half covered by the thin towel wrapped at his waist, hair dripping water down his shoulders. “Got anything that’ll fit me, Sammy?” he asked with a wide grin. 

It didn’t take much effort, when his teacher was being as annoying as he could be, for Sam to ignore a half-naked man in his kitchen. He wasn’t drunk at all, so not nearly enough for that occasional attraction to kick in. “What the hell were you singing?” he asked as he pulled the plug from the sink and watched the water swirl the drain. 

Gabriel sent him a disbelieving look. “Kiddo, you’re gay. How do you not know every Broadway musical ever?” He turned his attention to Dean’s sugary cereals, clutching with one hand to keep the towel from falling while stretching to his full height for the box of Count Chocula.

“Sorry for not living up to the stereotypes,” Sam snarked, but pulled down the box anyway. He wasn’t really surprised to watch the smaller man sift through the semi-chocolate cereal just to pull out the marshmallows. He just passed Gabriel a bowl so his table wouldn’t get sticky. Dean was going to be pissed when he realized all the real sugar was missing from not one, but two of his boxes. Sam couldn’t find it in himself to be anything but amused. 

They had less than an hour before class was scheduled to start, but Gabriel didn’t seem at all concerned. And why would he be? It wasn’t as if the class could start without him. So Sam tried not to think about the fact that he would most likely be late, and instead went up to Dean’s room and rummaged around for clothes that might fit Gabriel and might also be appropriate for a college professor. It was a miracle he found anything, so Sam wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth when he presented Gabriel with khaki slacks and a white button down shirt. 

Gabriel made a face. “Am I going to my first day of school? Jesus, Sammo. It’s a good thing you’ll never have kids.” He stood and held up the pants to his waist, trying to tell by looking if they would fit properly. “Poor bastards would probably get the crap kicked out of them three times before lunch.”

“So wear your own clothes,” Sam shrugged, taking Gabriel’s bowl to the sink and rinsing the saccharine residue. “Just do it quick. At this rate, I’m going to have to speed to get to class on time.”

“Aw, afraid of getting a ticket?” Gabriel teased, throwing the clothes over his arm and starting toward the stairs. 

“I’m afraid the car couldn’t handle it,” Sam replied, no longer paying attention to Gabriel. It seemed strange that neither of them had brought up what happened the night before, but digging through his backpack just now, pretending that he needed to check and make sure he had all his stuff together, Sam found that he didn’t want to be the first one to bring it up. Maybe it was childish, but somehow, he didn’t really feel like dealing with Gabriel was in any way dealing like dealing with an adult.

He jumped a little and turned wide eyes to the door when it swung open. Dean stood framed in the doorway, hand still on the knob as his gaze flicked from Sam, speechless with his mouth hanging open, to Gabriel, still poised at the bottom of the staircase, cocky grin in place, and towel barely caught on his hipbones. “Oh, damn,” Gabriel said with false distress and he pressed the back of his free hand to his forehead dramatically, “he has caught us. I guess the secret’s out now,” he finished on a laugh.

Sam flushed instantly red. He could tell from the heat that went all the way down his neck. “Dean, I can expl-“

His brother cut him off with one hand in the air. “Nope,” he said simply, “Don’t need it.” He came inside and shut the door behind him, shaking his head. “Don’t need to hear it,” he continued as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the arm of the couch. “Don’t need to know it,” he stretched his arms above his head as though he’d been driving for quite some time, which, Sam realized, he probably had. Then he slipped past Gabriel to head up the stairs, calling down, “I’m not asking, so you’re not telling. Worked for the army.” 

Sam scowled at him when Gabriel laughed. “Situational humor,” the short man explained, thumbing over his bare shoulder to where Dean had disappeared. 

“I don’t think that means what you think it means,” Sam snapped, pulling the zipper on his backpack closed with perhaps too much force. “Would you just get dressed?” Gabriel was disturbingly unconcerned, still grinning as he bounded upstairs to change, hopefully quickly. By the time Gabriel had managed to make himself appropriate, Sam hadn’t seen Dean come back down, and hadn’t worked up the courage to head up. So he left, deciding it would be simpler to just work very hard at not thinking about it, rather than trying to get his brother to talk.


	24. Dean Takes a Chance

If he thought about it for too long, Dean knew he would lose his nerve. So he didn’t. He didn’t think about the scene he’d walked in on, or what it might mean for his out-of-the-closet little brother to be standing in the same house, forget the same room, with his naked-except-for-a-ratty-towel professor. He didn’t wonder what that might mean for his nights spent drinking himself to oblivion with Gabriel at his side, grinning as he kept up with Dean’s self-destructive pace.

He just concentrated on his shower, on the feel of each wave of water hitting his skin, on the fact that the washrags were thin and ready to be replaced.

He noted that his tube of toothpaste was running on the low side, and added it to his mental shopping list, the one that would most likely be forgotten as soon as he walked from the bathroom. 

He took extra care with his appearance, choosing the least worn-out of his band shirts. He was sure Castiel wasn't the sort to care about the way someone looked, but Dean had a stupid sort of hope that the shirt would somehow help him get through what he thought would be an awkward encounter. He checked himself out in the mirror briefly before grabbing a dark cotton button up and throwing it on. It didn't matter what crazy thing he was on his way to doing, Dean didn't need people thinking he was a straight up Bon Jovi fan. Bon Jovi only rocked on occasion. 

Dean figured he was as geared up as he was going to be. He thumped down the stairs, grabbing his jacket on his way out the door. He managed to remember to lock the house before he left. For all the nervous energy pent up in his chest and belly, the drive to the library was uneventful. It wasn't until he stepped from the Impala into the nearly empty parking lot that he realized why. In his rush to "own it", Dean had forgotten that most people, the quiet librarian he hoped to sweep off his feet included, stuck to a schedule that meant they were only just getting out and about at 8:30 in the morning. 

Unsure what he should do, Dean pushed the car door closed leaning against the door and crossing his arms over his chest. He was only halfway through a mental debate that might have had him spending a good portion of his morning visiting Rufus at the Hunter's Rest, when he heard his name. Briefly closing his eyes against the rush of reaction that flowed through his body at the low tones, Dean pushed away from his car and turned to voice. When he finally chanced looking up, Castiel stood before him, head tilted slightly to the side, as if he was confused that Dean was here. And why wouldn't he be? Dean had been noticeably absent for the last few weeks, not that he’d ever actually spent much time with Castiel to begin with. He’d definitely never tried to actively find the guy. 

"Castiel," he finally managed, and smiled at the other man. The subtle smile he received in return let Dean know that he had succeeded in coming off casual and calm, despite his inner turmoil. "Is there someplace we can talk in private?" he asked, pulling his gaze from the other man to look around the parking lot. A petite dark beauty glanced him up and down and offered a suggestive wink as she strode away. A tall man, semi-balding, glared in his direction as he followed the woman. Several other cars pulled into the parking lot. Overall, it was not a place he thought he could say what he needed to say. 

Castiel frowned but nodded, and motioned for Dean to follow as he walked away from the front entrance, towards what seemed to be a small break area set aside for employees. "This is unnecessary," Castiel told him as soon as they rounded the corner of the building. "I understand."

The sudden turn had taken him by surprise, and Castiel's intense eyes on his pinned Dean in place so that he felt only smart enough to say "You do?" Pleasure rushed through him at the thought that Castiel might not only know just what he’d come here to say, but accepted it and him. His smile widened to a grin.

Castiel nodded. "You were not in control of your functions,” the man said matter-of-factly and Dean’s pleasure started to fade. “I have spent much of the last two weeks in contemplation and prayer. God has helped me to understand and I forgive you.”

“Forgive me?” Dean echoed, his smile dropping completely as he tried to make sense of what Castiel was saying.

The other man gave a short nod. “It is already done,” he repeated, smiling that small smile again, as if he were offering Dean some great gift.

“You think I came here to apologize?” Dean asked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket so that Castiel couldn’t see his fists.

“You did not?” Castiel’s head tipped again to the side. It was only because he was watching so closely that Dean noticed the slight furrowing in the man’s brows that indicated his confusion.

“No,” he answered, the shook his head when he realized how defensive he’d sounded. “Well, I mean, yes, but also, no.” It didn’t make sense to him so he knew it couldn’t make sense to Castiel. “I didn’t come just to apologize,” he struggled to explain, “I thought we might…” Fuck! This had never been so hard with a woman! He was never wearing this stupid shirt again. He let out a groan of frustration. “Look, Cas, I ain’t good with this stuff, but for the first time in my life, I think it’s something we need to …” the words stuck in his throat, “talk about.” When the hell had his life turned into a chick flick?

“It was an act of abomination,” Castiel told him, and Dean noticed the slight straightening of the man’s back. “I have forgiven you already. Should you wish to discuss it further, I suggest God as a confidant.” 

Dean felt a sudden stillness come over him at the word. All the nervousness, the twitches and the upset stomach, may still have been there but he hardly noticed them. “Abomination?” he asked, catching only Castiel’s nod and ignoring the words that followed. It didn’t take much a stretch of the imagination for Dean to know what the other man meant. He’d meant enough religious protestors outside the Hellhounds studio to connect the dots. “You mean, what we did, a man,” he pointed to himself and then Castiel, “kissing another man. That’s an…”

“Act of abomination,” Castiel repeated. 

Dean shook his head, frowning. “You think my brother is an abomination?” Castiel’s brows lifted and for a moment, his eyes seemed to look beyond Dean. When the focus returned to Dean, Castiel nodded and opened his mouth to talk but Dean refused. “And what about me, Castiel? Am I an abomination, too?”

“Dean…” 

“And you?” Dean moved forward with measured steps, crowding Castiel against the short brick wall. “Are you an abomination?” Castiel tried to duck aside, but Dean grabbed the smaller man’s arm, noticing for the first time that Castiel was trembling under his trench coat. “You felt something, Cas,” he ground out, pulling him forward by his arm until only an inch separated them. “I felt something, and I never feel anything,” Dean admitted. His voice felt harsh, like he’d been yelling. Standing so close, he could see that Castiel’s lips were chapped despite the warm weather, and as Cas quickly swiped the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip Dean decided he knew why. Not that the why was exactly on his mind when the man he’d been imagining fucking for the last two weeks was right here, if not really in his arms then damn well close enough. 

Dean started to lean in to kiss those lips, but Castiel pushed his fists with surprising strength against the taller man’s chest. Dean stumbled back, Castiel’s arm slipping from his hand as the man turned and hurried from him. “Cas,” Dean called, but he didn’t follow. Instead, he spun back, slamming his fist into the wall hard enough for the pain to chase away his frustration, his anger, even his passion. When he looked up again, Castiel was already gone.

His hand throbbed, the knuckles at the very least bruised, and it only hurt more as he drove away from the library. Castiel could have his damn church and his damn God. Dean had someone that offered better advice. Or else could knock some sense into the whole situation. 

Bobby didn’t look surprised to see Dean standing on his front porch, but then, Bobby never really looked surprised at much. Dean had always figured that at some point in life, the man had realized he’d seen it all and there was just no point in acting like he hadn’t. “Christ. What’d you do this time, ya idjit?” he greeted Dean and stepped back to let the younger man into the house. Dean shook his head and let the door close behind him.


	25. Castiel Considers

Castiel turned from Dean and hurried across the parking lot, not even waiting for the doors to fully slide open before slipping through. "Hey, Castiel," Rafaela greeted him cheerfully, but he ignored it and whatever unfinished sentence followed. 

He forgot to clock in.

He forgot to remove his trench.

He simply commandeered a cart full of returned books and pushed them straight to the fiction section. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, his throat burned and his skin felt flush. His mind was such a mess of tangled thoughts that he didn't notice that Rafaela had followed him, only realizing that she was talking to him when her hand touched his shoulder. Castiel dropped the books he been blindly organizing, incorrectly he was sure, and stared at the woman, eyes helplessly wide. 

Rafaela's face was twisted with concern and curiosity, and Castiel quickly schooled his expression to something he prayed was less vulnerable. He knew he’d failed when Rafaela’s worried frown grew. "What's wrong, Castiel?" she murmured, the soft question hardly reaching his ears over the pounding of his own heart. 

"Nothing," he replied, perhaps a moment too late. Rafaela did not seem to believe it. Castiel knew it was because he did not himself believe it.

"Something's wrong," she insisted. "Talk to me. Tell me-"

"Nothing is wrong," he answered quickly, cutting the woman off. "Everything is fine. I am normal." Castiel wanted to believe it, more than he wanted Gabriel to see the light, more than he wanted Michael to accept their differences, more than he could remember wanting anything. 

Rafaela's brows furrowed together and her hand dropped to her side. "No one is saying that you aren't," she told him, and even Castiel could tell the woman was being cautious with her words. "You're just not really...acting it right now."

In any given situation, Castiel would say that Gabriel would be perhaps the absolute last person he might look to as a moral example. But somehow, just now, Castiel thought that his brother's penchant for lying to get out of helping around the house might be his most acceptable option. "I am unwell," the lie rolled too smoothly from his tongue, and Castiel wondered if it was not as much untruth as he thought.

"You do look a little hot," Rafaela admitted, the concern in her voice deepening. "Is it your stomach?"

Castiel nodded, pulling at his tie in what he hoped was an uncomfortable manner. He'd seen Gabriel do such once, and it had seemed to enforce his lie. "Would you please cover for me?" He hardly allowed Rafaela the time it took to nod before he'd thanked her and turned away. He exited the building in a rush, thankful that Dean had already left as he had not planned so far ahead that he knew what he might do if he met the man again so soon. He started his car and drove, focused on his destination, keeping at bay with only the strength of his will all other thoughts until he reached the church. 

It was difficult to maintain a calm pace as he walked into the church. He picked one of the pews only midway up the aisle rather than his favorite at front. He’d been doing the same for many of his visits lately, and Castiel tried not to think of what that might mean. He sat stiffly at first, then ran his fingers over the cool wood of the pew in front of him, worn smooth over the years with the passage of many hands. He pushed his arms up, still feeling the wood through his trench, his jacket, and his shirt, until he was resting his elbows on the back of that pew. As he had done so many times before, he clenched his hands together, bowed his head, and prayed.

Castiel wasn’t sure how long he had been praying when he realized he had company. He smelled the softly acrid smoke of the cigarette before he heard the words, though his lack of surprise no doubt disappointed his visitor. “Thinking of joining the clergy?” Balthazar asked, patting the backs of his fingers against Castiel’s shoulder until he slid over to the right just enough for pastor to sit next to him. Castiel glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, repressing the urge to smile a little at the subtle disappointment he could see in the small downturn at the edge of his friend’s mouth. “I would not recommend the switch. You get more girls as a sensitive librarian than wearing the clergyman’s robes.”

Castiel had learned years ago that Balthazar was a strange man, and certainly like no other religious figure he’d ever known. After a childhood spent living in fear of disappointing his brother, and thus God, the unquestioning acceptance and lack of judgment that Balthazar had given him had seemed utter freedom. To learn that the man gave this gift to all members of his congregation, to friends outside the church, even to simple strangers in the street, had inspired Castiel. Despite the near constant lies about his smoking habit, and the odd bit of humor that hinted to a past life less upstanding than the preachers of Castiel’s childhood, if asked he would still say that he joined the Methodist church purely to become the sort of man Balthazar had proven himself to be. Only without the lies and presumably sordid past.

Until recently anyway.

Castiel sighed, closing his eyes against the image of the altar several rows ahead, and pressed the tips of his fingers to his lids. For long moments, Balthazar said nothing more. Castiel only knew he was still there by the soft humming. He knew eventually the pastor would get bored just sitting there, and would ask the questions Castiel wasn’t sure how to answer. The ordeal might help him find clarity, and was what he’d hoped for when he’d come to the church rather than stay at the library. But as minutes ticked by, and Balthazar had yet to say anything further, Castiel found the words came more easily than he’d thought possible. “I have been cruel,” he admitted. 

Balthazar snorted with disbelief. “I honestly doubt that,” he replied, laughter in his tone. Castiel didn’t look up, but he didn’t have to know the man was rolling his eyes when he heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Alright, my friend,” Balthazar said, pausing to take a long drag from his cigarette, “tell me what you have done.”

He was unsure where to start, unsure how much to say. Castiel kept his hands over his face, chewing for a moment on his bottom lip as he considered. Taking a deep breath in a failed attempt to calm himself, Castiel settled back into the pew, his hands dropping to his lap but clenched together tightly. He started from the moment he’d met Dean Winchester and developed a strong and honest desire to save the man, and forced himself to keep going straight through Dean’s confession. As much as the situation twisted his heart in his chest and pushed his thoughts to the darkest places of his mind, the story was surprisingly short. He didn’t falter though, until the end. “I was… I called him… and his brother…” Almost of their own accord, his hands flew back to cover his face. He couldn’t look at Balthazar, couldn’t look to the altar or the cross. “I was scared,” he whispered into his palms, not even certain his friend could hear the words. “It is no excuse for what I said, but I was scared.”

“Of what?” Balthazar asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft and serious. 

Castiel shook his head. But he knew he would answer. It was why he had come here, not to speak to God and pray for an answer, but to speak with Balthazar and receive one. Castiel leaned forward until his forehead rested against the pew in front of him and slid his hands up until he could fold his fingers together over his neck. “He was telling the truth, Balthazar. Not only his truth, but mine. I did feel something. But it is wrong. I called him and his brother... I called them abominations, but I am so much worse.” 

Silence followed his declaration, but Balthazar’s hand was on his back, patting gently with the comforting gesture of an old friend. After a moment of it, Balthazar’s hand gripped his shoulder, pulling Castiel to sitting. Castiel allowed it, letting his hands fall to his lap once more and keeping his face carefully forward. “Well,” Balthazar finally spoke, and Castiel heard the click of a lighter. He hadn’t even realized his friend had finished his other cigarette. “We know what the church has to say about such things.” Castiel nodded, frowning. He knew. “But I imagine if all you wanted was to hear again what the church might say, you would be still deep in prayer, no matter how many questions I asked.”

Castiel nodded again. Balthazar said nothing for a time, puffing at his cigarette every few minutes. Castiel waited for the other man to gather his thoughts. “God is not the angry, vengeful God He was in the Bible. He is loving and forgiving.” Castiel’s frown deepened at the announcement. This did not seem like an answer, so he waited for his friend to continue. “As a pastor, I cannot give you permission to engage in such relations with a man,” Balthazar said and Castiel appreciated that he kept his voice low, even if the room was empty of parishioners. “Personally though, I believe that God has given us many gifts: hope, joy, and most importantly, love.” Balthazar slanted his gaze to Castiel, and he felt that this statement of such a commonly held belief in his congregation, was somehow important to this specific conversation. 

When the man didn’t elaborate, Castiel shook his head. “I do not understand,” he confessed, rubbing his fingers to his temple. The stress of the morning’s events was beginning to build up a tremendous headache. Castiel hoped it would stay off long enough for him to receive the answers he so needed. 

“I’ve known you for a long time, Castiel. Nearly ten years now, I should think, and never in all that time, have I seen you so distressed. Please keep in mind that I’ve met Gabriel.” Balthazar chuckled, clearly remembering that unfortunate Sunday. “If one person could turn you on end like this, when not even your brothers could do so, I must believe that one person is somehow special. When God puts someone like that in your life, you must investigate.” Balthazar put out his cigarette against his boot, then pulled himself to standing with a grunt. “I am getting old, my friend,” he muttered and Castiel watched as he dropped the burnt cigarette into his jacket pocket. “It is a great sin to claim to know God’s plan for each of us, Castiel, and I am not so arrogant that I can say I have any sort of idea what He means for you, but I do hope I’ve helped.”

Castiel watched Balthazar walked away, disappearing into the room behind the altar. He wished that the man could speak plainly, but Castiel supposed he had his answer either way. Love was a gift, and Dean was somehow special. That he understood well enough. He simply couldn’t reconcile his entire life, every deep-seated religious belief he’d ever held, to the idea that a man could be with another man. He settled back against the pew and contemplated.

Shadows shortened then lengthened again as the sun passed over and morning turned to afternoon. His stomach growled, reminding Castiel that he had had neither breakfast nor lunch thus far, but still he sat, sorting through his thoughts, through each conversation with Dean Winchester, and through Balthazar’s advice. Sometime around three, he reached a conclusion that, while not completely satisfying, seemed at least reasonable.

If love was a gift from God, and if what he and Dean felt for one another was indeed love, then it was not a sin to pursue a relationship with the man. Castiel frowned and rubbed his hand against his head again. That seemed to be what Balthazar had been trying to tell him, but it still somehow felt wrong. Michael’s voice, the echo of religious self-righteousness that was left of his childhood under the man’s thumb, screamed at him that even thinking about such a thing was wrong and he would burn for it. 

But Dean’s voice came through louder. “I felt something, and I never feel anything.” He pictured the happiness on Dean’s face before Castiel had called him an abomination. He couldn’t be certain what had been going through the man’s mind at the moment, but if he had been the cause of that happiness, just as he had been the cause of the pain only minutes later, then perhaps Dean was much like himself- turned on end when he’d never expected to be. Before meeting Dean, Castiel did not believe that people, strangers even, simply felt something so strongly and so immediately. It certainly seemed that Balthazar had the right of it, that such a thing may be a part of God’s plan. But then, Balthazar had also admitted to not knowing that plan. Castiel suddenly wished he had a few aspirin in his pocket. Not that the aspirin would be at all useful in determining if the strength and suddenness of feeling he had for Dean meant something like love. They only barely knew each other. 

Unbidden, Rafaela’s exasperated explanation gained the foreground in his mind. "You go out for coffee to find out more about each other and make the basis for a solid relationship." Castiel’s frown lifted. Even Michael’s voice did not exclaim that having coffee with the man was a sin, though he did imagine it repeating the old adage about the road of good intentions. He would ask Dean for coffee and try to get to know the man through it. He would think about anything that might come after… well, he would think about that later.

Having come up with some semblance of a plan, Castiel stayed in his pew, praying for guidance he was no longer sure he would know to follow.


	26. A Lesson in Optimism

Ellen looked up from the phone, giving Dean a short wave before turning back to her conversation. Bobby gave her an affectionate slap on the ass as he passed by, laughing when the woman threw her small yellow notepad with unerring aim at his trucker-capped head. Dean smiled and shook his head a little as he followed Bobby through the old house to his study. The room was crowded with shelves stuffed with books, scrolls, and bits of paper bound with twine. Not that Dean had actually seen that last one, but he was sure if he looked hard enough he’d find it.

“Every time I come in here, I feel like I’m in someone else’s house,” Dean said. He leaned against an old table and dragged a heavy tome closer to flip through the pages. He didn’t even recognize the language. 

“Quit touching that. You don’t know what it’s worth,” Bobby snapped as he settled into the chair behind his desk. Dean let the book fall closed with a soft thunk, earning a sharp look from the older man. Bobby was still grumbling under his breath as Dean claimed his usual seat on the end of the old couch, kicking his feet up onto the table, and grinned as those grumbles became outright complaints. His hand still hurt, his chest felt worse, and the world as he knew it might be falling to ruin around his ears, but Dean could pretend a lot of things were just fine as long as Bobby was himself and bitching about everything. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

Dean let out a short laugh. He really should have known that he couldn’t slip anything past the older man. “Punched a wall,” he answered, looking down at his hand. The swelling made moving his fingers almost as painful as the actual punch had been, forget the patchwork of bruises than ran halfway to his wrist.

“That was a damn fool thing to do,” Bobby growled and yelled for Ellen to grab an ice pack. 

The next fifteen minutes had Ellen alternating between coddling and scolding Dean as she pressed a package of frozen lima beans to his hand. “Ought to make you eat this crap,” she muttered when Bobby finally managed to shoo her from the room. “You tell that boy that this is his dinner,” she ordered her husband, and Bobby nodded accommodatingly as he pushed the door closed. Dean could still hear her threats through the heavy wooden panel, followed by the loud clamoring of metal on metal as she hit pots together.

Bobby shook his head again, this time smiling fondly for his wife. “Those beans are older than Jo,” he warned, but made no offer to help Dean get out of the meal. He was in a decidedly better mood as he took back his chair, leaning back comfortably before pinning his sharp gaze on Dean. “So tell me boy, what’s got you acting like an idjit now?”

Dean laughed. “Aren’t I always an idjit, Bobby?” he asked, flexing his fingers experimentally. The pain had dulled some, but it just meant he could think more on what had caused it. 

“Don’t get smart with me,” Bobby scolded, but there was no real heat behind it. “Even you don’t go ‘round punching walls for no reason.”

Sighing, Dean leaned as far back into the couch as he could and rested his head on the back so that he stared at the ceiling. “I’m in love, Bobby,” he confessed.

“That’ll do it,” Bobby said dryly and Dean couldn’t help the wry chuckle that escaped. He did feel like more of an idiot than he’d ever felt before, so he couldn’t really disagree.

“If that were all, maybe. But I tried to tell him.” Dean glanced to Bobby then, wondering if he’d finally managed to surprise his adopted uncle with the sudden announcement that he was in love with a man. 

Bobby hardly blinked as he said, “I take it didn’t go so well.”

Whatever was left of his smile faded as Dean remembered Castiel’s expression, cold and shuttered. "No,” he answered softly, moving his gaze back to the ceiling. He didn’t elaborate, and Bobby didn’t ask. After long minutes of silence, during which Dean went through every minute he’d ever spent with Castiel, he finally let out a frustrated groan. “He felt it, too, Bobby, I know it. But he’s one of those religious types,” Dean sneered. “I barely started talking when he called me and Sammy …” Dean shook his head, not wanting to finish.

“Sounds like he’s got a lot to work through,” Bobby said several minutes later, interrupting the dark thoughts swirling through Dean’s mind, mixing and blending with the desire he still felt, despite the anger at Castiel’s condemnation. Those thoughts froze and Dean’s head shot up as he frowned in Bobby’s direction. The other man wasn’t even looking his way, glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he alternated between flipping through an old book and jotting down quick notes in a half-full notebook. He glanced up, as if just noticing Dean’s confusion, and jerked his head to the door. “Your fellow,” he clarified. “Choir boy like that, even if he does feel for you like you do for him, he’s bound to have some hang ups.” Dean nodded, his eyes flicking to the door almost as if he thought he might find Cas standing just there. It was impossible of course, but Dean couldn’t help the look. “How long did you give him?” 

“How long?” Dean echoed and frowned. “Well, I didn’t actually get to say the words.”

Bobby slammed his pen. “And you’re off punching walls? Damn, boy, you didn’t even tell the man, how are you going to give up already? He’s not some tramp you were planning to pick up for the night. I thought you loved him. ” 

With Bobby glaring at him as if he was four years old and broken that stupid singing fish the old man had been so proud of, Dean felt like a kid in trouble again. “I do! I didn’t give up,” he protested, dropping his feet from the table and leaning forward. “He ran away.” He sounded defensive, even to himself, but he couldn’t help the way things had gone down.

Bobby snorted, the aged wood of his chair creaking as the man leaned back again. “You have a problem, Dean,” he said with a sigh. 

“Yeah, and his name is Cas,” Dean muttered, rubbing a rough hand over his hair.

“His name is Sam,” Bobby corrected, and Dean straightened and started to deny it, but Bobby waved a hand at him. “Not the way you think, son. All I’m sayin’ is that when it comes to your brother, you never quit. Whatever it takes, so long as Sammy is all good. You just don’t have the same fight in ya when it comes to something you want.” Dean opened his mouth but Bobby continued over him, “When was the last time you really wanted something?”

Now Dean could think of plenty of things he wanted, and plenty that he got, but he didn’t think Bobby was talking about the last concert tickets he’d scored or those new boots, the ones that looked just like his old ones except without the holes in the soles from years of wear. He’d wanted to work with cars, but being a mechanic wouldn’t have paid the bills. Forget sending Sammy to college, he wouldn’t have been able to stay with his brother at all. He’d wanted to get married, even entertained the idea of an apple pie life with Tessa before that got fucked up, but he couldn’t just leave Sam behind like that. He wanted Castiel, had left Lisa’s house all hell-fired up to get him, but at the first sign of a struggle he just rolled over. Dean closed his eyes as he realized that Bobby had a point. 

“You need to live your life for yourself just the same way you lived it for Sam,” Bobby told him, and it shouldn’t have made sense. But it did. Lisa told him to own it, but he hadn’t really given it a chance. “Get on out of here, boy,” Bobby ordered, and Dean could hear the smile in the words. So he didn’t bother with good-byes, hardly remembering to throw a wave over his shoulder as he passed by Ellen. First things, first though. He was going home and taking off the damn Bon Jovi shirt and tossing it where it belonged. The garbage.

It had been a long time since he’d actually been inside a library, not making much of a habit of reading more than scripts and car magazines. The silence was almost stifling. The balding man he’d seen in the parking lot earlier that morning spared him three seconds of glaring down his nose before turning back to his computer, the precise keyboard strikes loud in the quiet. Dean looked around, trying to find Castiel in between the shelves, with no luck. 

“Can I help you with something?” Dean turned to find the pretty brunette from the parking lot. Her hands were folded demurely, but her back was arched in a way that Dean knew meant she was trying to display her assets. All he needed to see was that smile to know that she was ready and willing to help him with more than finding a book or two. He smiled back, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Where had the girl been weeks ago? Before he’d met Castiel, she was exactly the type he’d have given a few nights to. Now though, he only had one person on his mind.

“I’m looking for … a friend,” he said, careful to keep his eyes on the woman’s face. Last thing he needed was to be giving the wrong idea to any of Castiel’s co-workers. “Castiel…” 

“Novak?” the woman guessed, her back straightening as recognition flickered over her face and Dean nodded. “Weren’t you the one with him this morning?” Dean nodded again and the woman’s mouth turned down in a soft frown. “He left hours ago, right after he came in. Poor Castiel, he looked just awful. Didn’t you notice?”

“He looked fine to me,” Dean said, ignoring the curious looks she gave him. He sent her a dazzling smile, watching the worry and curiosity both leave her face. Her back arched again and that smile returned. Before she could offer anything he’d turn down, Dean thanked her and hurried from the library. Once back in the comfort and safety of his car, though, he had no idea where to go. He doubted Castiel would just answer the phone for him, but Dean needed to see him, to try again to get his point across and to convince the man to give them a chance. The problem staring him in the face now was that he didn’t know where to even find Castiel. Gabriel could tell him where they lived, Sam too since he seemed to be sleeping with Gabriel, but Dean didn’t want to have to explain to either man just why he wanted to know. And they’d ask. Sam out of curiosity and Gabriel just to screw with him.

The ringing of his phone was jarring in the silence of his car, and he jumped, thankful that no one else was around to see it. Shifting a bit in his seat, he pulled his phone out and checked the number. Given that he’d just spent the last ten minutes sitting quietly trying to decide just how he was going to find the guy, Dean felt stupid when he realized he’d been just staring for three rings at the block-lettered name: CAS. 

He punched the answer button with a bit more force than strictly necessary, and held the phone to his ear. “Cas?” he asked hesitantly. And didn’t he just hate that hesitance? There was a long silence from the other end of the line, and Dean was worried that the other man had hung up before he’d even answered. He pulled the phone away for a quick glance to reassure himself before he called out again, more strongly this time, “Cas, that you?”

“I’m here,” and Dean knew he shouldn’t be so damn happy to hear that voice. But he was anyway, a smile curling his lips. He leaned forward so that his head rested on his steering wheel and closed his eyes against the rush of feeling. He wasn’t used to it, had spent most of his life thinking that stuff was for chicks and their movies. Cas stirred up things in him that Dean didn’t know existed, so he wasn’t really surprised that his heart sped up and his chest felt tight. His hand didn’t even hurt anymore. He was just simply and suddenly happy. Didn’t mean he quite knew how to handle it though, so he stayed still, leaning on his steering wheel and smiling.

“Cas,” Dean finally managed, strangely pleased that the other man seemed as unable as he had been to say anything else, “I didn’t think you’d call.” He felt like an idiot, like he was jumping off a cliff and praying that he might fly. “Can we meet?” It was vague enough that he hoped the question wouldn’t scare the other man off. They could have dinner or something, and Dean would take it easy, keep his hands to himself. Just let Castiel get used to the idea of him being nearby, of them being something more than just a couple of guys making polite while their brothers ...did whatever it was that they did. 

Long minutes passed and Dean waited, reminding himself to breathe when he realized he was holding it in. “I would like that, Dean.” It had been longer than he cared to admit since he felt hope, but that was one feeling Dean still recognized as it grew in his chest.


	27. Sam's Blast from the Past

They barely made it to class on time. Sam was surprised at Gabriel’s sensitivity when the man told him they should go in separately. Then more surprised than he really should have been when Gabriel sauntered into the classroom, apologizing for his tardiness by announcing, “Sorry, folks. Had a hot date, got lucky, you know how it is.” Then he winked lasciviously, and Sam prayed to God that no one realized Gabriel was directing it to him. Not that it would matter if he couldn’t get the damn flush off his face! He ducked his head and forced a chuckle as the students broke into laughter, making a show of pulling together his papers for the class. 

It could have been his imagination, or he was just plain overthinking every move, but it seemed to Sam that Gabriel took every opportunity to touch him, to make prolonged eye contact, smiling knowingly each time he succeeded in making Sam blush. If someone didn’t know already, they were gonna figure out soon that he was more than just the teacher’s pet. He wanted to bolt as soon as Gabriel ended his lesson, but Sam stayed behind, chatting politely with several other students and slowly putting his belongings into his backpack, until only he and Gabriel were left. “What’s up, Sasquatch? Craving a little afternoon delight?” the shorter man teased, and strolled out the door on a roll of laughter. 

“It’s not afternoon,” Sam pointed out as he grabbed his bag and followed. “But even if it was, the answer would still be no.” Gabriel chuckled like he knew otherwise and kept walking. Sam had longer legs, so it wasn’t difficult for him to keep up, though he did glance at his watch once or twice. He needed to speak to Gabriel, to tell him that the sort of thing he’d been doing in class was not just embarrassing but downright inappropriate, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation he wanted to have outside the privacy of an empty classroom and Gabriel seemed to just be wandering aimlessly. “We need to talk,” Sam finally snapped, reaching for Gabriel’s shoulder and pulling the other man to a stop. “Don’t you have an office?”

Gabriel lifted his brow and smirked. “Talk, right…” he trailed off suggestively. Sam almost didn’t follow when Gabriel nodded and headed off again, this time with more purpose in his stride. When the other man led him into one of the older buildings on campus, possibly the only one skipped during the most recent round of updates and remodels, he wished that he hadn’t. 

The dark paneling, threadbare carpet, and stuffed-to-the-brim bookshelves gave a more studious impression of his professor than Sam might have guessed. But that wasn’t what held his attention when he paused just inside the heavy door. All the words he was going to say, the scolding he’d been rehearsing to himself, flew out the half-open window at the sight of the man sitting at the old desk. “Luci, you’re home!” Gabriel called, throwing his arms out and laughing happily.

The man at the desk let out a long-suffering sigh and set his newspaper down before looking up. Sam had taken a step back and was halfway to bolting entirely but that too familiar sharp gaze was on him and he froze. “It’s Nick, Gabriel, I’ve told you,” he said, though he kept his eyes on Sam. “Failing that, Pellegrino. Even Doctor would be an acceptable alternative.

Gabriel shook his head as he moved to flop on a battered sofa that had seen better days, possibly in the ‘70s. “No way, brother. When your parents decided to give you a name like Lucifer, they had to know someone was going to take extreme advantage of it.” He laughed again. “What are you doing here, anyhow, Luci? I thought you were off consulting on a dig in Zanzibar.

Nick finally took his gaze away from Sam to roll his eyes and scoff in disbelief at his friend. “Tanzania, Gabriel. Zanzibar doesn’t exist anymore,” he pointed out as he stood and circled around the desk. The move brought him closer to the door, and Sam’s brain scrambled desperately for the most polite way to make a speedy exit. After so vehemently insisting on having a talk with Gabriel, he couldn’t think of even one reason to leave that didn’t make him sound like a complete jack ass. 

“Zanzibar sounds cooler,” Gabriel shot back, his voice muffled as he hung over the end of the couch, digging through a short set of filing cabinets until he reemerged with a bag of M&M’s and a victorious laugh. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here anyhow.” 

Nick shrugged. “My sister had some problems with the family business. I’ve come back to help straighten them out. More interesting though,” he said and turned back to Sam, who straightened reflexively to his full height, not that either of the men in the room seemed at all impressed, “is why Samuel Winchester is standing in your office doorway.” He smiled, the same calm smile that still sent chills down Sam’s spine, and beckoned him closer with one hand. “Come on in, Sam, and say hello to an old friend. It’s been a while, but you know I don’t bite.” He leaned back against the desk and his smile widened just the slightest bit. “Usually.”

Screw being polite.

“I’m late for class,” Sam said quickly and left. He thought he heard Gabriel call after him, but he didn’t bother to stop.

He was running away. He knew it, wasn’t too ashamed to admit it, at least to himself. But there was a reason he dropped anthropology as an elective two years ago, even if it meant taking a rigorous three week mini-mester over winter break to stay on track with his graduation plan. And that reason was Nicolas Lucifer Pellegrino. 

Sam had two more classes that day, and he really was late for the first of them, but rather than sticking around, he decided to make a sick day of it, and ran all the way to the parking lot. He was breathing hard when he got inside the piece of crap that could only be called a car by virtue of its sometimes-working engine, but that had nothing to do with the distance he’d run and everything to do with why he’d run it. 

He threw his bag in the passenger seat, locked the door and stuck the keys in the ignition, but that was as far as he made it before the trembling set in. He gripped the top of the steering wheel with both hands and leaned forward until he could press his closed eyes to his knuckles. His breath came in short bursts, his skin flushed and sweat gathered on his forehead. He was panicking, and he couldn’t stop.

He’d met Nick during his first year of college, just in passing as the other man shared office space with Sam’s world cultures professor, but even then the man seemed to draw his eye. It wasn’t difficult to find out who he was and what he’d taught, even less so to sign up for the class the next year. He would have been happy enough just to watch Nick in action, to listen to his talk about long extinct peoples and cultures, but Nick seemed just as attracted to him as he was to Nick. If he didn’t count Jessica, and he really shouldn’t since it had been one long lie to spare them both some pain, Sam had never really been in a relationship. Sure, there had been a few guys through junior high and high school, quick flings and short nights that were spent mostly in getting each other off. Only a week into the semester though, and he was pushed back against the dry-erase board, half swiped clean of dates and countries and names, as Nick introduced him to the pleasures of sex with an older man. And Sam gave himself, all of himself, to one person for the first time.

The first month with Nick was the best of his life. 

The second was the worst. All he had to do was ask, and Sam might do anything for Nick. So when Nick brought in the other man, Sam was scared, but he wanted Nick to be happy with him. So he let the man take him. It was rough, painful, but when the man was done, Nick seemed so pleased. He was gentle as he held Sam, kissed him sweetly, and brushed away the last of his tears. 

But the stranger was back the next night.

And the next.

And then there was another man, older, shorter. Rougher. He liked bondage. Sam didn’t.

Sam missed a week of school after that, and he began to doubt their relationship. But Nick was still so gentle, passionate, still made him feel special, that Sam tried to convince himself that this was just how relationships were between two men. “You know I love you, don’t you baby?” Nick said it over and over, after every visit. Sam wanted to believe it. So he made himself believe it.

The next time was worse though. Sam couldn’t tell Nick how much it hurt. He didn’t think anymore that Nick would care. When Nick and his friends left the room, Sam went out the window. He made it a few blocks before he couldn’t walk any further. Bobby took him to the hospital. He asked questions of course, but Sam wouldn’t answer. What would he say? Except to beg Bobby not to tell Dean anything. He knew Bobby didn’t want to agree, but Sam wouldn’t let it go until the older man had. Dean was in Van Nuys working on a film. The last thing he needed was to think that Sam had problems. 

He’d gotten away from all that. Dropped the class, avoided the man like the plague, changed his cell number, and even moved into a motel until Nick finally stopped going to the house. He’d been extra careful around school, keeping his head down, not working for any kind of attention. It was lonely, sure, but it was better than the alternative. This year was supposed to be better, though. Half the anthropology department would be out of the country for the first part of the year, including Doctor Nicolas Pellegrino. 

Freedom, for the first time in almost two years. Sam told Dean who he was, though they were still working through that he was sure. He’d put himself back on the market, even if the guy he really wanted barely noticed him and definitely not in the way Sam would have liked. And he was graduating in a matter of months, so he would finally be able to pay Dean back for everything his brother had done for him since their dad died. 

So why did it have to be that now, when he was finally feeling so secure and focused, the end in sight, did that man have to come back? And to be such obvious good friends with Gabriel? Bad enough his obnoxious professor was making a habit of “getting lucky” with Sam. He couldn’t go through it again. 

He wouldn’t go through it again. 

He refused to let Nick run his life like that, through fear and pain and promises of love that just never followed. 

But that was all for tomorrow. Today, today, he was going to go home and force the memories of his teacher from his mind. 

He didn’t need them to remember the lesson.


	28. Just Desserts

Gabriel watched Sam bolt from the room. Actually bolt. Like the kid was terrified or something. He didn’t even answer when Gabriel called out to him. Gabriel looked to his friend, the man still leaning against his desk and staring thoughtfully after the escaping student. “Something between you guys I don’t know about?” he asked, and popped a few more candies into his mouth. 

Nick turned from the door and smiled, that little calm one that said he had secrets he didn’t quite want to share. “A long time ago, Gabriel. You know I only have eyes for you now.” Gabriel laughed and allowed himself to be distracted. He had his chocolate and it had been quite some time since he’d spoken with his friend, so when Luci asked what the news was around campus, Gabriel launched into the perhaps-too-detailed-for-a-professor collection of gossip he’d been saving up.

He stopped short of sharing his relationship with Sam. He didn’t take many things seriously, nothing in fact, but this… whatever he had with Sam… he simply didn’t want to share. So Gabriel chose to whine instead. “And now, for some reason, I can’t get a girl in this town to give me a kiss, forget a nice solid BJ!” he finished, rustling through his hidden snack drawer for more candy. He was sure he’d put a bag of Twizzlers in there at some point.

“And yet, you don’t actually sound like you’re missing out on anything, Gabe,” Nick said, and pulled his laptop from his bag. He was too busy hooking up a few wires to actually see the tongue Gabriel stuck out in his direction, but years of friendship brought on the scolding anyway, “Very mature.”

“Learned everything I know from you,” Gabriel returned, and grinned unrepentantly at his friend’s glare. It was a mostly true statement anyway. When he’d left home at the tender age of seventeen, Gabriel hadn’t really planned past getting away from Michael and all his damn rules. A couple nights on the street were harder than Gabriel had figured, so he’d tried to slip into a bar with a larger group and had been tossed from the door with little ceremony. As luck would have it, he’d landed right at Nick’s feet. Though the man had already found his lady for the evening, he took pity on the half-starved kid before him. 

It wasn’t two weeks into Nick’s lady killer training before Gabriel found a lovely cougar of his own. And so he’d spent the years, passing from one wealthy woman to the next. One particularly indulgent lady paid his education, much to her son’s anger, and used her connections to land him the internship that eventually got him his current job. He was a bit old for the cougars now, but there had never been a shortage of women to live with, especially since his code kept the options so very open. 

“That’s actually why you were my first stop,” Nick’s tone, concerned and amused at the same time, interrupted Gabriel’s thoughts and he shook himself from the past to look to his friend. “I think I’ve found the source of your women troubles.” He motioned with one hand to his laptop, shifting the screen slightly to Gabriel. 

The shorter man stood from the couch with a bit of a pout, he still hadn’t found his Twizzlers after all, and moved to check it out. At first, he only skimmed through the words, but his name printed in bold Times New Roman, several sizes larger than the surrounding print, had him reading a little more thoroughly. The whole site was an extremely biased rant on his lack of morality, as if that were anything new to anyone who truly knew him. “So?” he scoffed, and started to pull away. Nick scrolled down the page until a series of photographs spilled into view. “What the absolute fuck?” Gabriel let out on a slow breath. A few with Kali, some with Anna, a couple with some bar whores, and unfortunately he’d been wearing the same clothes in each of them. Not that it really mattered. The time stamps in the lower corner of each photo were incriminating enough. He pushed Nick’s hand aside and continued scrolling. More photos of past girlfriends, manuscripts of erotic phone calls, copies of multiple sexting conversations, even a list of his favorite pick-up lines. “Well, no fucking wonder I’m striking out,” he snapped in disgust. “That right there is copyright infringement!”

Nick, the bastard, just laughed. “I don’t think that means what you think it does,” he commented as he closed his laptop with a soft snap.

“The hell it doesn’t,” Gabriel returned, and spun on his heel to dig in earnest through his snack drawer. Were there enough sweets in the world to make this better? “Those are patented Gabriel Novak moves! Not to mention some extreme violations of privacy.” There wasn’t enough sugar in his office for damn sure. He stood, kicked the drawer closed and pointed his friend to the door. “You’re taking me for cake, right now. Move it,” he ordered.

“Because you finally got your comeuppance?” Nick was still laughing as he gathered his belongings. Gabriel’s glare had no effect on him whatsoever, but he marched to the door anyway, grin firmly in place.

The college coffee shop only really ever got two things right: the caramel macchiato and a little piece of homemade heaven more commonly known as German Chocolate cake. Gabriel ordered three slices. Recognizing him as their most regular customer, the server made sure he got the biggest ones. “As usual, give my compliments to the chef,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Nick behind to pay the bill. The other man expected it, his wallet already out, and he gave a charming smile to the woman before following his friend to one of the tables in the mostly empty room. Gabriel hadn’t bothered to wait and was halfway through his first slice before Nick slid into the chair across from him. The rush of sugar from the rich confection soothed his nerves and Gabriel let out a satisfied sigh. 

Nick watched as he drank his coffee, and Gabriel knew the jerk was smiling even without looking. “Can you figure out who made the site?” he finally asked the question partway through his second slice. 

Nick’s brow lifted. “Wouldn’t you rather it be taken down?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Only if it doesn’t stop you from finding out who made the thing first. I was serious about the invasion of privacy thing,” he frowned down at his cake. The timestamp on those photos put them just the day before shit had gone to hell with Anna and Kali. The suddenness with which he’d been kicked to the curb, not to mention Anna’s irrational fury, made him pretty sure it wasn’t either of them who set the thing up. Someone he didn’t know had accessed confidential conversations, texting and talking. Someone had followed him around all day for those pictures. Someone had worked pretty hard to find out all his favorite lines and moves. And Gabriel wanted to know who. 

Then he wanted them to suffer.

Nick nodded. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.” Gabriel grinned and returned to his cake feeling much better. Luci had always had a way with computers. “In the meantime,” his friend said, pausing to drink again from his Styrofoam cup, “You are more than welcome to stay with me. I’ll have to air the house out, but you know there’s plenty of room.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel said as he quickly swallowed the last mouthful of his cake, “but I’ve got a place already.” He checked his phone. “And a class that starts in five,” he announced and hurried to leave.

“It amazes me that you can eat so much and still be so small,” Nick remarked as he stood to follow Gabriel to the trash.

“I’ve got an awesome metabolism,” Gabriel replied, and called out a farewell to the coffee house staff. “Plus, you know, sex is probably the greatest workout a guy can have.”

“Which begs the question, since you’re not having any, how could you so comfortably eat three massive slices of pure fat?” Nick pulled his bag higher on his shoulder as he fell into stride with his short friend.

“Never said I wasn’t having any,” Gabriel finally answered with a grin and whistled a short happy tune. Let Luci make what he would of that, he was at his classroom now. Gabriel abandoned his friend at the door, laughing at the still surprised look on the other man’s face.


	29. Getting to know you

Awkward.

Awkward.

Meeting-his-girlfriend’s-parents-for-the-first-time-when-they-opened-the-door-on-the-x-rated-groping-session-after-the-third-date awkward.

Dean kept his hands busy playing with a packet of sugar, hoping the movements hid the nervous trembling in his fingers. Castiel didn’t seem to notice, his bright eyes flicking around the diner as if he’d never seen a place like it. “So,” Dean started, and had to clear his throat when that gaze turned to him. Somehow, he thought that everything that Cas was or thought or felt could be clear in those eyes, if only he knew how to read them. “So,” he tried again, forcing a bit of false confidence into his tone. No need to sound like an idiot just because he felt like one. “I guess we should start talking… at some point.” He cleared his throat again and turned his head away. False confidence didn’t really hold up long under that gaze. 

“What should we talk about?” 

From any other person, the question might sound patronizing or, at the very least, as if the man was making fun of him. But a look back to his companion showed Cas sitting ramrod straight on his side of the booth, head tilted just to the side and Dean knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the other man really had no idea where to start. He felt better knowing he wasn’t the only one, and he offered a smile. “I guess, tell me about yourself?”

Cas’ brows furrowed. “What about myself?” 

Dean shrugged. “You know,” he tore the packet in half and hurriedly wiped the sugar granules into his napkin. Then he clasped his hands together and held them in his lap, determined to prevent any more mishaps. “You know,” he started again, “like your favorite color or your birthday or something.” Yeah, he sounded like a moron. Dean looked to the kitchen, praying that Rufus might be there to somehow come along and save the date. A petite redhead passed by, and an older brunette, but Rufus was nowhere in sight.

“Do you have a favorite color?” Castiel asked. He looked away from Dean only long enough to nod a silent thanks to the waitress who placed a pair of cups on the table, coffee steaming. 

“We didn’t order this,” Dean pointed out even as he reached for one of the mugs.

The waitress shrugged and thumbed over her shoulder. “The old man said to bring it. So I bring it.” Then she spun on her heel and walked away, presumably to help paying customers. Rufus was leaning through the window when Dean spotted him, giving a mocking salute before ducking back. Dean didn’t have the time to thank the man, but he was sure he’d leave a good tip in the jar by the register.

The coffee only offered a minor distraction though. Dean poured packet after packet of sugar into the hot liquid, but Castiel hardly blew on his before drinking it black. “Blue,” he said, almost before he’d realized it, and Dean hoped Cas wouldn’t figure out that he’d just decided. All his life, black had been his favorite color. It was predictable, sure, but he was a predictable kind of guy. But it had been Cas’ eyes haunting his dreams and fantasies almost since they’d met. So blue was his favorite now. The deep blue when Cas frowned, that intense blue when he was staring particularly hard at something, usually Dean himself, and most especially, that soft dark blue on the rare occasions Dean caught him smiling. 

Cas nodded, setting his cup carefully on the table. “And what is your birthday?” he asked.

Dean grinned. “This is supposed to be a give and take kind of thing, man,” he replied.   
“You should tell me about yourself, too.”

The other man shook his head. “You have already decided that you love me. The purpose of this meeting was for me to get to know you.” 

And didn’t that just put the whole thing in perspective. It kind of hurt too, if Dean thought about it too much. So he just sighed and leaned his elbows on the table. “Alright,” he conceded. Cas did have a point, and maybe it would set the man at ease if he knew he wasn’t having coffee with a creeper. “So, what would you like to know?”

For the next twenty minutes he answered rapid fire questions, and Dean smiled at it. The whole thing almost felt like a game, and he wondered if Castiel realized how much of himself he gave away with each round. 

“Right or left-handed?”

“Right,” and the subtle nod confirmed that Castiel was too.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee,” was the firm response and Dean finished off his cup. Castiel smiled slightly and took a small sip of his own. 

“Best friend?”

“Lisa Braeden.” Dean took the nearly imperceptible lift of dark brows to mean that Cas didn’t believe a man and woman could be just friends, but he refrained from commenting just now. Cas had already set the rules of the game, and Dean was determined just this once to play by them. 

The questions continued until Castiel asked, “Favorite breakfast?”

“Pie,” Dean answered quickly, not even having to think about that one. 

Castiel’s head tipped again to the side, his hands playing lightly on the smooth ceramic of his long empty mug. “Favorite lunch?” 

“Pie,” Dean answered again, smiling to himself at the confusion he can see forming in the other man’s eyes. 

“Dinner?”

“Pie,” Dean repeated, grinning broadly now. “And let me save you some time- pie. Pie. Pie. Pie. Pie is life.” He couldn’t help the laugh at the look on Cas’ face, the confusion battling with a desire to argue.

Apparently, that desire won out. “Pie is not proper food, Dean, certainly not for breakfast.”

“Obviously, you’re not eating the right pie,” Dean responded instantly, and stood from his booth with the kind of ease only someone who’d spent a lot of time in quick-serve diners could manage to walk to the counter. “Rufus!” he called and gave the man his most charming smile when he stuck his head through the window. “How about some of your famous pecan pie?”

“On the house?” the older man scoffed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe Dean had the balls to even ask. “Not even for family, son.” 

Dean pouted a bit, and the red-headed waitress took pity on him, holding a brief whispered argument with Rufus as she gathered the order for her table. She failed, if her apologetic shrug was anything to go by, so Dean resorted to drastic measures. “But my friend there,” he pointed back to Cas, who hadn’t moved from the booth but seemed to be watching the exchange with curiosity, “he’s never had your pecan pie before. It’s a crime, Rufus, it really is. Help me fix it.”

Rufus rolled his eyes and disappeared into the kitchen. Dean almost gave up, even started to reach for his wallet to pay for a damn slice, but two plates of the sticky sweet confection appeared on the counter in front of him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything, son,” Rufus snapped, and muttered angrily to himself as he left. Dean grinned and gathered the plates. Rufus might complain, but just like Bobby, it was all bluster. 

He set the plates on the table with a flourish, but Castiel didn’t seem suitably impressed. He shrugged it off. “You look like that now,” Dean said, motioning to Cas’ sour expression with one hand, “only because you haven’t taken a bite.” The other man’s expression didn’t change as Dean reclaimed his seat and picked up his fork. Dean frowned. “Why aren’t you trying it? Oh, shit!” Castiel looked up, brows raised just slightly. “You’re not allergic, are you? Crap, I mean you wouldn’t let me ask anything and I…” he was rambling, so Dean put a sharp stop to it, dropping his fork and standing as he reached for Castiel’s plate. “I’ll grab you something else.”

Castiel moved so fast that at first Dean didn’t realize what had happened. One second, the pie was in his hand, and the next it was across the table with Castiel’s arm curled around it almost protectively. “It is fine,” Cas told him and he reached for his fork. Dean pulled his hand away and sat back, trying not to laugh at the sudden reaction. He must not have pulled it off as well as he’d hoped, if the slight flush that rose high on Castiel’s cheeks was any indication. Still, he couldn’t complain, because Castiel was embarrassed and it was just… adorable. Especially since it didn’t involve Gabriel drunkenly up-chucking all over Sam. “I am not allergic,” Castiel said softly and he sat back, the tenseness fading from his shoulders. Dean watched as Cas carefully cut the tip of the pie and lifted his fork to his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then his eyes flared just slightly, his mouth curved up at the corners and he quickly ate three more bites.

Dean grinned. “Good, yeah?” he said and took a bite of his own pie. No matter how many times he had Rufus’ pecan pie, it was always like the first time and it was always the best pie he’d ever had.

“This…” Castiel started with a soft smile, his eyes on what was left of his pie, “makes me very happy.”

Dean’s grin widened. “I knew it would. Good enough for breakfast, right?” He laughed a little before digging into his own slice with gusto. For several moments, neither of them said anything, and halfway through his slice, Dean glanced up to find Castiel watching him with the same thoughtful expression he’d had when he first tried the pie. “Something wrong?” he asked, grabbing his coffee and taking a few sips to wash down the sweet desert. 

“Why do you love me?” Castiel asked. 

Dean choked a bit on the coffee. Cas’ face was calm, head tipped just to the side and fork grasped loosely in his hand. He asked it so easily, as if it were just another round of their game. Could he really not tell how difficult a question it was? Looking at Castiel’s earnest expression, Dean decided then that he really couldn’t. Just what kind of man was he that he could be so innocent of things like this? Not that Dean himself had much experience with love, especially not after the disaster that came of his relationship with Tessa, and definitely not with another man. He knew what he felt, how all the little things that Cas did or said just made him happy, knew what those fantasies he’d been having meant, but how could he answer in a way that Castiel would understand? He laughed a little, forcing a coolness he really didn’t feel, and set his coffee down to rub a hand on the back of his neck, “You don’t ask the easy questions, do you?” he finally replied, keeping his tone light. “I think maybe that’s one of the ones you should save for the second or third date.”

Castiel’s fork clicked lightly on his now empty plate. “This is a date?”

Dean nodded, careful to keep his reaction under control. He didn’t want to risk scaring Castiel away again, not when things had seemed to be going so smoothly. “Well, yeah. I mean, isn’t it?”

Castiel was looking at him, but Dean felt again that the man wasn’t really seeing him, just simply lost to his own thoughts. “This is a date,” he murmured again and Dean realized that it hadn’t been an actual question. His grin became real then and he lifted a hand to cover his mouth. Was it that innocence that made him so oblivious or just a simple lack of distrust in the ulterior motives of other people? Dean couldn’t say for certain, but he did know without a doubt that Castiel wouldn’t last thirty minutes in his world, not with people like Meg or Ruby. He felt himself fall just a little more for the man. He realized that Castiel’s gaze had sharpened and was focused on him again. “Very well,” Castiel said, dropping his hands once more beneath the table, “I will ask again later. Where do you work?” Dean hesitated before answering, something Cas picked up on quickly. “Is this also one of the hard questions?” 

Dean smiled, waving his hand slightly, as if it were really wasn’t important. “No way. I work at a studio in LA.” He kept the answer short on purpose, hoping Castiel wouldn’t ask anything more about it. Dean wasn’t ashamed about what he did for a living, but he didn’t talk about it the same way other people talked about their jobs. Coming right out and saying ‘I’m a porn star’ didn’t really sit well in a room full of accountants and businessmen. It caused enough stress for Sam in the last few years that Dean had taken to using euphemisms, or just plain good old fashioned lying when people brought the subject up. He didn’t want to lie to Cas though, any more than he wanted to go into detail about his work. All he could do was hope his grin covered up his doubts.

Castiel nodded, seeming not too interested. Dean might have breathed a sigh of relief, but then the other man continued his line of questioning with “And what is your job there?”

“I’m an actor,” Dean answered, figuring it was honest enough. “Nothing big or anything. You probably wouldn’t have seen any of the films.” And Dean would bet money on that assumption. He might not know as much about Castiel as he wanted to, but he just couldn’t picture the man watching porn. Did he even watch R rated movies? Dean smiled to himself, finally decided that Castiel just didn’t seem the type to watch movies at all. More likely, he spent most of his time reading. Castiel nodded and Dean finally allowed himself to be relieved when the man looked back down at his plate, then back up towards the front counter, where the two waitresses were chatting as they grabbed orders and loaded their trays. It didn’t seem like it would be too hard to distract Castiel from asking about his job. Dean pushed himself out of the booth. “Excuse me a sec, would you?” he said, rapping his knuckles lightly on the table. Castiel looked at him with his brow furrowed, and Dean could tell that he was confused. He smiled down at the man and walked away, leaning on the counter to call to Rufus. 

“What now, kid?” Rufus asked through the window, usual gruff frown in place. 

“We need more pie, Rufus,” Dean told him, reaching for his back pocket.

“You’re kidding, son,” Rufus snapped, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

“I’m paying this time!” Dean called and frowned when Rufus didn’t come back to the window immediately. “Come on, old man,” he tried once more. Two plates of pie slid into view and Rufus was frowning at him again, but Dean smiled as he pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “Thanks,” he said, rounding the corner of the front counter. He dropped the bill and picked up the plates, laughing when Rufus snatched up the money quickly. Dean shook his head. “Keep the change.”

Rufus grumbled under his breath, but Dean didn’t pay attention as he walked away. Castiel was looking at him and as he approached their table, Dean grinned and lifted the plates a little higher so the other man would know the pie was definitely for them. Castiel smiled, and Dean almost tripped over his own feet. That smile, which seemed so rare on someone as serious as Castiel, shouldn’t affect him as much as it did. Dean set the pie on the table, sliding one plate to the other man, and Castiel turned his attention fully to his slice. As he reclaimed his seat, he couldn’t help but be glad for the distraction the pie had allowed. As long as Castiel was watching him, there was no way he could be cool. Castiel looked up at him once, and Dean grinned, lifting his fork as he said, “Pie is life.” Castiel smiled again before tucking in to his pie and right then and there, Dean gave up on the idea of ever being cool again, so long as Cas would save that smile for him and only him.


	30. A Night in Castiel's Head

He was unsure how meeting with Dean would work out. He was afraid that Dean would still be angry over his comment earlier, or that the man might once more try to…to kiss him. But while they were at the diner, Castiel had to admit that Dean was acting the perfect gentleman. He even played along with Castiel’s logic and allowed Castiel to ask all the questions, though it was obvious that he had more than a few of his own. There were not many people that Castiel knew who would be so patient. 

Even so, he could not tell if he was being kind or cruel by coming here and spending time with the man. Did he truly intend to allow a relationship to develop? It was all well and good for Balthazar to say that God gave love as a gift, but it was another thing entirely for Castiel to see love as something that could exist between two men. He remembered again the two men from his childhood, sitting bravely in church, ignoring the whispers and the glares as they took their time to worship God together. Was that love? He could not be sure. 

But a light would come to Dean’s eyes when he looked at Castiel, a light that sent his stomach twirling into a mass of knots, a light that was not there for anyone else. Was he special somehow? He had never been special before. Could he be mistaking that feeling for love? It was possible but was it reality?

The pie was long finished, the sky outside the deep dark of late night and the diner was slowly emptying of patrons. Dean smiled at him and motioned with his head to the door. “Should we go?” he asked, and Castiel nodded. He scooted awkwardly across the seat to get out of the booth, a little envious of the ease with which Dean moved, and followed the other man to the door. Outside, they stood silently at the edge of the parking lot, somewhere partway between each of their cars. The flashing neon lights of the open sign flickered blue and red across Dean’s face, but even if it had been a simple white glow, Castiel was not sure he would be able to know what was on the man’s mind. 

“Cas,” Dean started, sounding as nervous as Castiel felt and he shoved his fists into his jacket pockets, “Cas, about this morning… I, um…” Castiel thought he saw a flush on Dean’s face and he looked down at the sidewalk, feeling that perhaps Dean had chosen out here in the dark to say this so that Castiel could not see him as clearly. “I’m sorry,” the man finally managed and the words seemed almost foreign to him, as though they were not something Dean said very often. 

Castiel shook his head. “I apologize, Dean. You were angry, and you had a right to be.” He looked up to find the other man watching him, though with his back to their only light, it was impossible to tell the look on his face. “I should not have called you a …” He flushed himself, remembering what he had said. “My brother has always set very clear standards of what is and is not acceptable. I am finding it difficult to adapt to other ways of thought. But I have been seeking the Lord’s guidance and…” He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked back up to Dean. 

He had stepped a little closer, only inches as if he were worried that he might scare Castiel away, but those inches brought him into the light again and Castiel could just make out the understanding smile Dean offered. “I get it. It’s not exactly a usual situation and all. Hell, three months ago, I wouldn’t have bet money on something like this.” He shrugged, letting his hand drop and Castiel allowed himself just the briefest moment to miss the warmth on his shoulder. “But I want to see what’s behind all this.” Castiel nodded slightly and for several minutes they simply stood there in the semi-darkness, watching each other through the blinking neons. Then Dean cleared his throat and looked away. “So, if you’re free tomorrow, maybe we could meet again?”

Perhaps it was the lack of clear visibility, but Castiel felt he could hear all the uncertainty in Dean’s voice that the other man had not intended to reveal, and all the hope behind it. Was he really so special, to inspire that kind of feeling in someone he hardly knew? “I would like that, Dean,” he agreed softly. 

Dean smiled at him, and Castiel could feel the warmth even with the space between. “Great. Good. We’ll just meet here then, okay, say around three?” Castiel nodded. “Awesome, it’s a date,” Dean said and waved as he headed towards his car.

Castiel gave an absent minded wave in return, watching the man leave. There was that word again: date. Was it really a date, even with two men? Michael’s voice in his head, usually ever present, seemed absent tonight and offered no guidance. Given the situation, Castiel was sure it would have nothing helpful to say anyway and so he did not really mind the loss. Still, he wished for someone to talk to, who might understand his dilemma. Balthazar seemed to have plenty to say on the situation, but Castiel was not seeking religious advice at the moment. Really, he wished for someone who might help with the more secular part of the situation. Castiel was not sure what to do on dates for certain, but he knew that most people did not spend the whole time asking whatever questions came to mind and expecting an answer. Certainly, that was not how the few dates he had been on had ever gone. But it felt different with Dean. If he could only understand the reasons behind the feelings that Dean professed to having, or better, the reasons behind his own feelings, he might know what to say or how to act with this man, but as the situation stood now, he felt more it was like stumbling in the dark. 

Almost as if to emphasize the point, Castiel tripped over the parking pylon as he moved towards his own car. He was thankful again for the darkness, that no one saw the embarrassing move or the bright red flush he felt rise to his cheeks. 

The feeling stayed with him all the way home and he sat in the driveway, the faint echo of his car’s engine dull in the silence and stared up at the shadows of his house. Gabriel would know what to do. He would know what to say. He would have advice on the whole situation and even though Castiel would never act on that advice, it would all somehow make what he needed to do become clear. Gabriel had just been staying with him for a few weeks, but his absence left a void. Had it really only been yesterday that he’d walked out of the kitchen and away from the one brother he thought accepted him? 

With a sigh, Castiel got out of the car and made his way, by memory in the darkness, to the front door. He did not need the light to find the key and open the door. He did not need the light once inside either. It would only remind him again that his house was empty, and lonely. He had lived that life before. He could live that life again, he was sure, and he would be better off with his brother’s juvenile pranks. Still, he sighed as he shucked his jacket, placing it carefully over the back of the chair in his kitchen before making his way down the hall to his bathroom. The brightness of the light hurt his eyes and Castiel took several minutes to let them adjust, emptying his pockets as he did. Then he looked at the phone he had just placed on the counter, fingers tapping lightly as he considered.

Then Castiel shook his head and turned away, pushing the shower curtain aside to turn on the water. He undressed as the water heated and steam filled the small room, eyes occasionally flicking to his phone. Then he took a quick shower, still debating with himself. His mental argument was going in circles: there was no point in staying angry with Gabriel for being himself, God preached forgiveness especially when it was most difficult to grant, it was difficult getting past being a disappointment to the man who had raised him since childhood, Gabriel had not only called Michael down to pass this judgment but had put Castiel in such a place to begin with, but again, there was simply no point in being angry with Gabriel for being Gabriel.

The mirror was completely fogged by the time Castiel had finished his shower and he toweled off slowly, watching the blurry reflection of himself. Then he wrapped the towel around his waist and let out a sigh. Because he did not need to see the image in the mirror to know what he was going to do. Castiel picked up his phone, unlocked the screen, and slid through the contacts until he found Gabriel’s number. There was the slightest bit of hesitation before he hit the dial button and he could not help but hold his breath as he listened to the ringing on the other end. Castiel was unsure what he would say if Gabriel did answer the phone and he looked upwards, hoping for a small bit of guidance. He only saw the ceiling, the last remnants of steam still clinging around the light.

“Hello,” Gabriel’s voice called, but Castiel rolled his eyes and stayed silent. “What?” Gabriel’s voice came again, followed by, “I can’t hear you!” Castiel waited patiently as the message continued. Gabriel’s laughter flowed through the line, then “Leave a message, chucklehead.”

The message had gone on long enough for Castiel to have figured out something he could say, but he still had not come up with anything. He let the silence draw out much longer than he had intended, before finally saying, “Call me,” and hanging up. Shaking his head, Castiel tapped the phone against his hand for a moment, then padded barefoot to his room. A few minutes and his favorite blue and white striped pajamas later found Castiel settled in bed, all ready for sleep but still wide awake and fiddling with his phone. 

Just when he had finally decided to try calling his brother again, the phone vibrated and tinged with the text message notification tone. Castiel lifted it to take a look and smiled at the text. Had Dean somehow known that he needed a bit of comfort right now? Was this just another thing that marked the man as somehow being special? "Thanks for tonight." Such a simple message and yet he felt so much better for having received it. The uncertainty and worrying fluttering in his chest stilled. 

He was not a master of texting, so though his response was short, it still took several minutes for Castiel to type it out, though most of that time was spent agonizing over how the response might sound. He settled for "It was an enjoyable evening" and immediately regretted hitting the send button. Rafaela always told him he sounded too formal. But it was hardly a minute later that Dean replied, sending a colon symbol followed by a close parentheses symbol. He frowned as he looked at it, wondering what it might mean. When he tipped his head to the side, considering it again, he realized that the two together formed what looked like a smile and he smiled back, though Dean could not see it. Castiel leaned over and hooked his phone up to the charger, flicked off the lamp next to his bed, and settled back, letting his eyes close and sleep over take him as he kept smiling.


	31. Lesson to Learn

Safe at home, hours after his unexpected reunion with Nick Pellegrino, Sam was still shaking. He’d skipped his classes, and felt bad enough about that, so he’d tried to work on some of his homework, checking online to see if the teachers had posted anything of today’s lesson on the school’s website. They had, but it didn’t help matters at all. Sam was still too worked up to get anything done and instead spent the time unwillingly reliving every moment of his and Nick’s time together. 

Two months. Just two months. Not even the whole two months. From start to finish, their ‘relationship’ had lasted seven weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and 33 minutes. Just seven weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and 33 minutes from Nick’s first hungry kiss to Sam’s terrified escape. 

But it broke him. 

He wished Dean were here. His brother had a way of saying things that just put everything into perspective. He’d listen, without really listening, and then say something so stupid it was almost profound. And all would be right with the world. 

He was glad Dean wasn’t here though. His brother had a way of doing things that ended him up in jail. Sam owed enough to Dean without getting him locked away. 

No. He would work through this himself, just like he had last time. 

That’s what he told himself anyway, but he was still locked in his room, only the small lamp on his desk offering any light, curled in his bed under the covers. No matter how many times he pointed out to himself that he was way too old and definitely too tall for this, he still stayed, hardly moving. 

Finally, finally, Sam forced himself out of the bed. Nick wasn’t some boogeyman, some devil hiding in the dark and waiting to strike. It didn’t do any good to cower under his blankets like a four year old. Besides, Dean would be home soon, and he would definitely notice if things were that off. Sam straightened his back, steeled his nerve, and prepared himself to just act normal, for his brother’s sake if nothing else. He made his way to the bathroom, blinking at the brilliance of the light he flicked on. When he could see again, he wished he couldn’t. He looked like shit. Letting out a sigh, and shaking his head again at the childishness of it all, Sam splashed his face with water a few times. He still looked like crap, but to him it looked more like harassed student than terrified kid. 

A knock sounded on the door as he headed down the stairs, and he rolled his eyes as he moved towards it. What a dumbass thing for Dean to do, forgetting his keys. He opened the door, fake smile in place, ready to tease his brother just like he might any other day, but it wasn’t Dean standing on the front porch, impatiently tapping his foot in the dim light. “What took you so long?” Gabriel asked, pushing his way inside past a stunned Sam.

How could he have forgotten Gabriel? Gabriel, his teacher, who was friends with that man? Gabriel, who had used him just like that man and his other friends, a convenient and at least partially willing tool to get off with. He slammed the door closed and spun on his heel to glare down the shorter man, at once filled with a rage he could barely control. Gabriel was standing near the kitchen, apparently having been going straight for Dean’s sweet stash, his hands in his pockets and watching Sam with interest. “What gives?” he asked. As if everything was fine. As if he wasn’t just like them.

“Why are you here?” Sam snarled, stalking towards the shorter man. “Did he send you?”

Gabriel looked confused, brows furrowed just briefly. “What? Who?” he asked and glanced quickly through the room. “You start drinking without me or something?” he whined, pouting.

Sam shoved Gabriel to the wall, using his greater height to tower over the other man, but Gabriel was unimpressed. Nick must have told him, must have shared everything he’d done to Sam. Why else would he be here now? “I’m not weak anymore,” he told Gabriel, “and I won’t let it happen again. Not with you, not with anyone.” Without allowing the other man a chance to speak, to question, Sam grabbed his arm roughly, pulling Gabriel behind him up the stairs and to his room. He knew better now, and thanks to Nick, he knew what to do to show someone their place. Sam swung Gabriel in front of him and shoved, watching the other man fall onto the bed as he backed up and reached behind his back to twist the lock on his bedroom door. 

Gabriel was grinning, leaning back on his arms with his khaki-clad legs spread wide. “And you said you weren’t an animal,” he teased. He was hard already, the slacks made that easy enough to see. He still thought he was in charge. 

Sam grinned, not nicely, and pushed himself away from the door. He knelt on the edge of the bed, one knee on either side of Gabriel and he pulled the man forward by the front of his plain button-down, Dean’s least favorite shirt borrowed just that morning. The height difference between them was enough that under normal circumstances, Gabriel barely came up to Sam’s chest. Sitting like this, that distance was even greater and Sam enjoyed the idea of being in charge for once. “You’ll tell him, won’t you,” he murmured, deftly loosening the top two buttons, then he grabbed the hem of the shirt and pulled up, past Gabriel’s face and to his wrists. “You’ll tell him that I’m not his toy anymore,” he finished as he twisted the cloth so that Gabriel’s hands were wrapped together, only the tips of his fingers loose enough to move. 

He pushed Gabriel back down and slipped from the bed, turning his attention lower, to work on getting those slacks off. The shorter man tried to get back up, obviously wanting to watch, but it was difficult with his hands tied and after several tries to regain some kind of balance, he finally just twisted to one side, shoving his elbow into the mattress to look down at Sam with a confident grin. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of stuff, Sasquatch,” he teased, finally still long enough for Sam to undo the button on the slacks. 

The taller man slipped one hand into the waistband, not surprised enough by the fact that his professor had been going commando all day to even pause, and used his free hand to push Gabriel back down. “Shut up,” he snapped, pulling the slacks down Gabriel’s hips.

“As you say,” Gabriel replied cheerfully and wriggled his legs to help Sam get rid of his pants, kicking off his shoes as he did. Sam scowled. Was this man making fun of him? Did he listen to all of Nick’s stories and have a good laugh at the stupid kid? Was he laughing now? 

Sam knelt on the floor with the other man’s legs on either side of him and brushed the backs of his fingers up the underside of Gabriel’s cock. Then grasped the man’s hips and took him in his mouth. It wasn’t much effort before the bitter flavor of pre-cum sat heavy on his tongue. He leaned back on his heels and slipped his fingers between his lips, sucking on them until they were good and wet, his other hand still wrapped around Gabriel. 

“Whoa, there,” Gabriel called, bucking slightly at the feel of Sam’s fingers on his ass. “Wait, I’m the girl here?” he asked, and Sam smirked when Gabriel’s voice pitched high at the end of the question.

“There are no girls here,” Sam pointed out, and ignored whatever else his professor was going to say to work his fingers inside. Gabriel whimpered at the touch and his thighs tightened around Sam, heels digging into the small of his back. Sam leaned forward, fingers still moving roughly, to whisper his advice. “It’ll go easier for you if you relax.” Nick had said the same thing to him, the words never really calming him the way they should have. Perhaps because Sam had come to realize that that Nick only said it when things were about to get even worse. 

But for Gabriel, the words seemed to force his eyes open, and far from the fear or panic that Sam had always felt in this situation, Gabriel’s eyes were clear. And there was that damned over-confident smile, a challenge, as if he didn’t believe Sam could go through with his intent. “What the hell. Bring it on, Sasquatch.”

Gabriel was toying with him again! Sam growled low in his throat and gave up what little gentleness he had to make this man pay. Someone would. Someone had to. He shifted, dragging the shorter man with him across the bed and flipping him on his belly. Gabriel’s fingers clenched into the pillow and he pushed himself up, trying to watch Sam over his shoulder. Sam knew from experience that it wasn’t a good view, giving just enough of an idea of what was happening to heighten the fear of what was to come, so he allowed it. Despite his bold words, Gabriel’s shoulders were tense, the muscles in his legs tight. Sam traced a hand down the man’s back and pulled his fingers away, using both hands now to hold Gabriel open. He thought Gabriel might have said something but the words became a cry of pain as Sam pushed in.

Gabriel was tight, too tight. He hadn’t prepped the man enough, but then, that had happened more than once to Sam. He’d lived. So he didn’t concern himself with the thin trickle of blood too much, instead using it to smooth his way back in. He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the bed beneath them. Gabriel’s head was down now, face buried in the shirt still wrapped tight around his wrists and shoulders shaking slightly. 

Sam didn’t care. He thrust in again, letting out a groan at the pressure and heat. And for a moment the thought flickered to the forefront, no wonder Nick did this so often, and then he didn’t think about Nick anymore. Or Gabriel. Or himself. He felt. Just felt. And it was good. The man’s cries and gasps and moans echoed around the room and pushed him harder and faster until he came, releasing himself in the body beneath him. 

He was still angry. He was still hard. The other man was weak, lying on the bed with the tenseness gone from his shoulders. He didn’t even protest when Sam flipped him back over, and pulled him upright, settling him into his lap and onto his dick. The cloth of that shirt was against his back now and Sam could feel the damp of saliva. His legs were trembling with strain but Sam made him kneel on the bed anyway, shoving up into him. The man’s head fell back, fingers digging into Sam’s back and he smiled at the pain, at the heat that sucked him in again and again and again. And when the other man couldn’t stay upright any longer Sam pushed him back to the bed, following down on top. Teeth bit into his neck and held on, tongue vibrating against his bare skin with every moan the man let out, with every thrust Sam took. And when he came this time, lights burst behind his eyes. The teeth finally let go and the scream that followed was at once too close and too far away as it sounded in his ears. 

The body beneath his was limp, arms hanging loose around his shoulders and legs falling away from Sam as though there were no more strength in the entire length of him. Sam still knelt over him, breathing in deep the scent of sweat and sex and the last weak remains of Irish Springs soap underlying it all. Nothing like the sticky sweet of Nick’s favorite cologne. Nothing that clung to his nostrils to stir nausea with each and every breath. He slipped from under those arms and slid his way down, stopping at the man’s waist. He gave an experimental lick at the skin, taut over that sharp right hipbone. The only reaction he got, if it could be called such, was the steady but too fast rise and fall of the narrow chest as the man beneath him tried to catch his breath. So Sam bit down, hard, the taste of blood hitting his tongue sharp as iron. The other man let out a choked gasp, his fingers straining for Sam, digging into his hair but still too weak to cause any pain. 

Sam ignored it, licking gently at the mark until he’d cleared the blood away. Then he bit down again, a dark sort of pleasure seeping through his consciousness as he listened to another pained gasp. The legs on either side of him moved, the first feeble signs of struggle which he tamped down immediately by trapping the left leg beneath him and hitching the right up to his shoulder. Then he bit down again, blood slicking the skin under his teeth. He was going to leave a mark, one that stayed past tonight, past this week, that stuck with this man so that he would remember every moment of this night.

Just like Sam remembered every moment of that seven weeks, five days, fourteen hours, and 33 minutes.

The cry of pain caught in the man’s throat and his back ached, fingers clenching tighter in Sam’s hair. “Fuck, Sam!” he choked out, none of his usual confidence lacing the words. The cock that had been flaccid and spent stirred, unable to get fully hard, and Sam licked it once, leaving a swipe of blood in his trail. Then he straightened, positioning his own revived erection to that abused hole, still loose from their recent activity. Honey brown eyes flashed to his, wide and wavering with tears, of pain perhaps. What good were tears, though? Sam turned his head from that gaze, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of the leg over his shoulder as he pushed again into that heat. He went slowly this time, rolling his hips and punctuating each thrust with another nip of that soft skin, pressing his thumb to the deep marks he’d left on that hip, listening intently as the man alternated gasps and sobs, pleasure and pain, fingers curled together in that stupid shirt and hiding his face. Long minutes of delicious torture wrenching a response Sam was sure the man would regret later. He had.

He didn’t touch anywhere else on the man, and he didn’t have to. Without any further encouragement on his part, other than the steady deep thrusts and soft nips, his captive let out a rough yell and came, spilling his release over the rumpled sheets, mixing with the blood that Sam had drawn. But Sam wasn’t done. There was the whole night ahead of them. The whole night to make this man understand just how far Sam had come in two years. And when the man looked at him again, he could see in those honey eyes that he knew. This was just the beginning.


	32. Secrets and Charms

There were suspicious noises coming from Sam’s room. 

Dean stared at the door with narrowed eyes and wondered if he should be at all concerned. There was a dull thud, something hitting the floor, and the light beneath the door shifted, almost disappearing completely. It was a stupid lamp anyway. The soft murmur of voices followed by a hoarse cry of pleasure. Dean flushed, shot his brother an unseen thumbs-up for finally getting laid, because the kid really needed it, and beat a quick retreat to his room, thankful that the entire length of the hall was between them. 

It wasn’t the sex that bothered him, he decided as he turned the shower to hot and pulled off his shirt. Just that Sam was having it. With a man, presumably. And considering where he had just come from himself, Dean had really no right to freak. But despite his numerous fantasies all centering around Cas, he just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of his little brother living out his own fantasies with some guy. Dean shook his head, deciding not to think about it anymore, and hurried through his shower.

He padded downstairs late the next morning, yawning and scratching his head. Sam was already in the kitchen, his back to Dean as the taller man fiddled with the coffee pot. He turned when he heard movement, and even from across the room, Dean could see the tenseness of his shoulders. Sam seemed to take a breath of relief though when he realized it was his brother. “You’d be done with that already if you just got a normal coffee pot,” Dean pointed out as he grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and set it on the counter. He made a face at the equipment, boasting more buttons and dials than a damn airplane, and shook his head. “Who the hell drinks the rest of that shit anyway?”

“Don’t knock expressos, Dean. They’re like having three cups of coffee at once,” Sam replied, and Dean looked at his brother again. Sammy didn’t sound like himself, and he definitely didn’t sound like a guy who’d just gotten laid.

“You alright?” Dean asked, trying to make the question sound casual. Because something was definitely up with Sam. He leaned back against the counter to watch his brother’s reaction. 

Sam half turned towards him and gave him a smile. “I’m fine,” he said and turned back to his machine. Dean frowned, drumming his fingers against the edge of the counter. He knew that smile, the one that didn’t reach his brother’s eyes and that was too tight at the edges. Sam was not fine, and Dean opened his mouth to point it out, but his brother interrupted with a quick question. “You came back early this week. How’s the job going?”

Dean wanted to argue the subject change but another glance at his brother’s face and he knew it was one of those fights he was going to lose. Whatever Sammy was going through, he was determined to go it alone. Dean thumped Sammy’s shoulder with his fist, a silent message to his brother that said everything Dean himself didn’t have the words for, and the small smile, the slight relaxing of his brother’s face was enough for Dean to know that he’d gotten the message. Dean grabbed his bowl from the counter and headed to the pantry, fishing around on the top shelf until he found the Lucky Charms. “Better now that’s it’s about done,” Dean finally answered, moving to drop his bowl and the box on the table before grabbing the milk. He spent too long digging through the utensil drawer, silently cursing the fact that they’d never gotten some kind of organizer for it but knowing that he wouldn’t remember the problem once the drawer was closed, then finally just grabbed a spoon from the drainer next to the sink. 

Sam turned from his machine, blue mug in one hand, to look at his brother. “That’s it?” he asked and Dean could hear just a little bit of laughter in the words. “I’d have thought you’d be ranting and raving by now, ready to take out some witches for real,” he admitted, at last smiling completely. “Weren’t you having some problems with Ruby?”

Dean nodded and settled into his chair at the table, Sam moving to sit across from him. “Bitch wasn’t making it easy,” Dean almost growled as he remembered Ruby’s attitude. 

Sam shook his head and sipped from his mug. “I figured,” he said aloud, tapping one finger on the side of his mug, careless of the heat. “How’d you get past that?”

Was he blushing? Dean really hoped he wasn’t. The tell-tale heat didn’t seem to cover his face, so he decided that was probably a good sign. He could still play it cool. “I’m awesome, that’s how,” he proclaimed with a confident one-shouldered shrug. He reached for the box and started pouring out his cereal, needing the distraction of food because he wasn’t going to admit to his brother that he’d spent every second of his and Ruby’s scenes together fantasizing about the very hot, very male librarian younger brother of his own younger brother’s professor, especially not when he was about ninety percent sure that the same professor had had some fun with Sammy the night before. Nope. Some hurdles didn’t need to be jumped all at once and something was definitely wrong with his cereal. Dean frowned down at the bowl for a few moments, hand still on the box. Then he tipped the box so he could look down into it. “What the hell?” he muttered, then louder, “what the hell happened to all my charms?”

“Is that the time?” Sam asked too quickly, standing from his chair with exaggerated speed. Dean glared up at his brother suspiciously, frowning deeper. “I’ve got homework…and stuff… so, you know, enjoy your breakfast, see you later.” He was gone almost before Dean could blink, heavy steps in a bolt towards the tiny laundry room nestled under the staircase. Dean could still see him if he leaned around the edge of the table just a bit and could tell that Sam was focusing a bit too much on folding those old sheets. 

Then he saw the grin curling at the edge of his brother’s mouth and slapped his hand down on the table to push himself up. “You owe me a box of Lucky Charms!” Dean called, for the moment not caring that Sam’s companion was probably still sleeping upstairs. “And not that stupid off-brand crap,” he snapped and stalked to the pantry. He pulled down his Count Chocula and grabbed another bowl from the cabinet before moving back to the table. “I want the family-sized box, too!” he called once more before muttering under his breath, “taking all the damn marshmallows from my freaking cereal. Nobody would eat this shit without the damn marshmallows.” 

He started to fill the new bowl, frowning deeper at the chalky ‘x’s and ‘o’s that fell into his bowl. He looked into the box and tossed it down, ignoring the bits that scattered across the table. Then he grabbed both bowls, stomped over to his brother and shoved them into his hands, right on top of that still warm and unfolded comforter. “Fuck you,” he said, making sure to speak as slowly and clearly as if he were talking to a damn idiot, because he had to be, if Sam jacked the best damn parts out of his cereal. Then, giving his brother one last glare, Dean stomped up the stairs because, screw it, he was going to get waffles at Rufus’ place. He’d be three hours early for his date, but at least there he could count on getting some sugar on his plate, instead of disappointment.


	33. Need

Gabriel looked into Sam’s eyes and knew that this wasn’t his clumsy, morally upright Sasquatch. Whatever was going on, whatever dark recess of his mind Sam was actually hiding in, when he came back to himself, he was going to regret that night. And Gabriel didn’t think it was going to be the same kind of fleeting regret he felt when he couldn’t get the first girl of his choice to take him home for the evening. Sam was the kind of guy who would really be torn up over this. He couldn’t say for sure just why he cared, but he did, and Gabriel figured there was only one thing to do.

He stopped struggling and relaxed. It was his first time with another guy and Sam was angry, but Gabriel had had angry sex before. He liked angry sex. Kali had been especially good at it. 

Kali, with all her skills and toys, had nothing on Sam Winchester. 

Light filtered into the room through thin blue curtains, casting strange shadows into the corners. Gabriel thought if he stared hard enough, he might could make out actual objects. He guessed it was nearing mid-day now, judging from the angle of that light, but it didn’t help him figure out just how long he’d been out if it. Sasquatch had stamina, and Gabriel didn’t know how long they’d been going at it before he’d passed out. 

He hurt. All over, muscles strained beyond their limits, a soreness at his lower back and an ache deep inside that together meant it was going to be painful getting around for the next few days. He was on his stomach, the crisp sheet pulled up to his shoulders smelled of dryer sheets and nothing of what had happened the night before. He wasn’t sticky or damp, or itchy with the dried evidence of their time together. Sam must have cleaned up and Gabriel wondered that he was so out of it that he could have missed the whole thing. He shifted slightly, winced at the pain, and stopped wondering. 

The door creaked open and carefully soft steps came just into the room before the creak sounded again, followed by the light click of the door settling closed. Gabriel stayed still, listening carefully and watching with half-closed eyes when Sam came into view. His back was to Gabriel, but the older man could still make out the tense set of his shoulders and the stiff movements that seemed so unnatural, even for something as simple as putting neatly folded sheets in a drawer. 

Despite Gabriel’s allowing this to happen, Sam was beating himself up it anyway. 

It was a rare moment, to get a kind of insight into this man that Gabriel couldn’t really get between class, their many arguments, and those rare moments of peace. He’d known that Sam tended to a more serious outlook, and had definitely looked down on Gabriel’s lifestyle, though not enough to cut all ties completely. He wondered how the man had grown up to so easily go along with Gabriel’s pace. The image of Sam’s hasty retreat from Gabriel’s office flicked through his mind, casting doubt on his conclusion that Sam’s attitude had to do with his upbringing. 

You’ll tell him that I’m not his toy anymore.

That was a statement that said way more than the actual words, whether or not Sam had intended it. The look on Sam’s face when he’d seen Nick in Gabriel’s office. That had been fear. Gabriel knew Nick, had sat at his feet, figuratively of course, to learn from the master. But he knew that for all Nick’s charm and that smile on his face, he was not a nice man. He wasn’t even really a good man. But Gabriel had never thought himself in a position to judge. So he hadn’t. Nick was a good friend to him, one of very few. One of one, if he didn’t count his younger brother. So all he could figure was that there was a side to his friend that he didn’t know. He accepted that, never questioning it. It was just one of those things. Sam, however, seemed to know that side. And it terrified him. And that made Gabriel curious.

But he had things to do before starting that investigation, one of which was to knock Sammy right out of his funk. “You realize I’m never going to believe that sweet-ass angel attitude you’ve got ever again,” Gabriel said aloud, wincing a bit at the rasp that came out with the words. Holy hell, had he yelled that much last night? He’d say it again, Sam Winchester had talent.

Sam almost jumped out of his skin, knocking against the dresser so it banged against the wall and spinning around to stare down at the man in his bed. “Gabriel, I…” and he seemed unsure where to go from there, his eyes dark with that regret Gabriel had known was coming. They flicked once or twice in his direction, but never settled there, as if looking too long was painful. And maybe it was. Sam rubbed at his face, letting his large hands settle over his eyes as he leaned back against the dresser. His shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He looked like everything had drained from him, the good and the bad, until he was just empty. Gabriel frowned. That hadn’t been what he was aiming for with the light hearted comment and he didn’t like his sasquatch looking so defeated. “Gabriel, I’m sorry, I’m really… really sorry,” Sam said softly form behind his hands. 

“I’m not,” Gabriel replied and Sam’s head snapped up. His brows furrowed as he stared down at Gabriel, confusion and shame written across his face in equal measure. Gabriel rolled to his back and started to push himself up. Sam hurried forward, hands outstretched to help, but stopping just short of actually touching the other man. Gabriel didn’t mind, just finished getting himself to an upright position with as little fuss as possible. He bit back a groan that he was sure Sam heard anyway. “Well, mostly not,” he admitted with his usual grin. 

Sam just shook his head and sighed, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed, that awkward distance that was far enough from Gabriel that anyone looking on would have known immediately that they were witnessing the aftermath of a deeply regretted one-night stand. “I… I … did that to you, and you’re not…mad? Or hurt?” Sam shook his head again, shoving his fingers through his hair before letting his hand fall down between his knees. “How can you not be? That was… it was...” a flush rose on Sam’s face, tinting even the tips of his ears bright red, and Gabriel could guess the end of that sentence. Then Sam turned his head away. “But that was bad. It was really bad and I’m… not that guy.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, deciding not to let Sam wallow any further. Without an indication of what he was planning, he threw the sheets up and over at Sam. Before the other man could react with more than a startled “hey,” Gabriel kicked out one leg, landing his foot square in Sam’s side. Then, while Sam doubled over at the sudden pain, Gabriel shoved him off the edge of the bed. 

It was too soon, the movements too rough after the night he’d had, and the pain caught up with him quickly, leaving him kneeling in the center of the bed with one hand braced to keep him upright and the other pressed against his lower back. Sam struggled his way out of the sheets and, still on the floor, looked up to Gabriel, his face an odd mixture of confusion, annoyance and concern. “That hurt the both of us,” Gabriel admitted, shaking his head a little as he settled back against the pillows with a soft groan. “Point is, Sasquatch, I could have left any time I wanted to. I could have fought back, and won, too. You don’t go to as many strange peoples’ houses as I do without knowing how to defend yourself. That’s just man-whore rule number one, right there.” He shrugged and grinned, hoping that there was no more pain in the image he presented. 

“Then why did you stay?” Sam asked, and it was clear in his voice that he didn’t quite believe Gabriel. He put his hands on the edge of the bed and started to push himself up.

“Because you needed it,” Gabriel admitted easily. Sam froze, eyes wide as he stared down at the sheets. He didn’t look at Gabriel, though the shorter man kept his eyes on Sam the whole time. Needed to get laid? Needed to be in charge? Needed let out his frustration and anger in the oldest way possible, excluding murder? Or just needed Gabriel? Maybe it was all the above, Gabriel didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that whatever IT was, Sam had needed it.

Silence filled the room, sitting heavy between them for the space of several heartbeats. Then Sam asked softly, his eyes still downward, “And what do I need now?” 

Gabriel shuffled forward on the bed until he was close enough to throw his arms around Sam and tuck the taller man’s head into the crook of his shoulder. Sam stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as Gabriel ran his fingers through soft brown hair. He lifted his arms and settled them at Gabriel’s waist. Though he didn’t pull him any closer, Gabriel could feel the trembling in the fingers that gripped just a little too hard at his back, and he rested his cheek against Sam’s temple, feeling the warmth of skin and the pulse of the blood beneath it that gave away, if he hadn’t already known, Sam’s uncertainty at the whole situation. Softly, he answered, “You need to make me some pancakes.”

Sam pulled away, looking at Gabriel with brows knit. “What?” he asked. Gabriel noticed, of course, but didn’t mention that Sam’s hands had stopped trembling. 

“Pancakes,” Gabriel repeated, patting his hands on Sam’s shoulders and carefully moving back until he was again resting on Sam’s way-too-fluffy-for-a-guy pillows. “Or waffles. I’m not picky, just really hungry. As amazing a piece of man-cake you are,” he paused for a moment to appreciate the flush that bloomed across Sam’s whole face, “you don’t really fit into any of the seven food groups.”

“There are only five food groups,” Sam corrected Gabriel as he finally stood up, kicking his leg free of the last tangles of his bedsheet. 

“Not the way I count them,” Gabriel shot back and held out his hand. Sam grabbed the sheet from the floor and passed it over. As Gabriel snuggled himself into the sheet as much as he could without too much moving around, he listed off his groups, “Veggies, breads, meat,” here he winked at Sam and the other man flushed again, “chocolate, Twizzlers, and milk.

Sam shook his head, the first hint of a smile, curling at the edge of his lips. “That’s six, not seven. And I’m pretty sure chocolate and Twizzlers don’t really count, no matter what you or my brother might say about it. And you forgot about the fruits,” he added as he rounded the end of the bed and started for the door, hopefully to get Gabriel some breakfast. 

Gabriel grinned widely. “Sorry, I did forget fruits. Well, I guess you do fit into the food groups after all,” he laughed and resisted the urge to pat himself on the back at his own joke. 

Sam glared at him from across the room, but there was no heat to it. “So I’m cake, meat and fruit, all at once?” he asked, apparently trying to point out the absurdity of the entire conversation. 

“You see now why I was so confused,” Gabriel nodded seriously. Sam snorted, as much of a laugh as Gabriel figured he was going to get out of the guy, and pulled the door open. “Seriously, though,” Gabriel called out and Sam paused at the door to look back. “Pancakes, okay? Or waffles.” He bounced slightly in the bed, starting to get a little excited at the idea of sugary sweet syrup. “Home-made, none of that frozen crap! I’ve got a really active metabolism, so it’s your fault I’m so hungry. It’s the least you could do.” Sam rolled his eyes and finally left the room, closing the door behind him. Gabriel only got louder, to make sure Sam could hear, “You know, because of all the sex!” He heard a thud and a quick stream of curses that left him smiling at the idea of Sam tripping down the stairs, face flushed that adorable bright red of embarrassment.


	34. The Date

Dean was nervous. Which was freaking ridiculous when he remembered his years of experience at dating, and everything that followed. But Castiel was different and none of his experience mattered when it came to the straight-laced librarian. Dating was one thing, fucking was another, and what Dean hoped they would have was a game all its own and he had no idea what the damn rules were. So he figured he’d do what he always did and just make it up as he went. 

Castiel had shown up early for their date, which made Dean happier than he cared to admit even if it wasn’t anything near as early as he had been. The other man was just as nervous as he was, if that small uncertain smile Cas had greeted him with meant anything. Hopefully, it also meant the man wouldn’t be able to tell just how out of sorts Dean was. They had a light meal, meaning a slice of Cas’ new favorite pie and a cup of coffee apiece, before leaving the diner. Dean hadn’t actually planned further than that and now stood in uncomfortable silence with Castiel’s unwavering stare on him as he tried to decide just what they should do on this date.

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and half turned away, hoping for some bit of inspiration to strike him. This would be so much easier if he knew anything more about Castiel than just his own feeling that he somehow loved this near stranger. He pulled his right hand free and motioned down the sidewalk, asking “How about we just walk and talk for a while?”

Castiel nodded, falling into step with Dean as he set off down the sidewalk. Mid-day on a Saturday as nice as this one was shaping up to be meant there were more people walking around than Dean had expected, and he remembered why as they rounded the corner to the edge of the park. “The city sponsors this Halloween thing every year,” he said aloud, and Castiel nodded. Of course he knew. He was a city employee, right, working for the library. Dean rubbed his hand across his nose, hoping to hide the brief flush of embarrassment. Yeah, he wasn’t making a solid impression with this whole date thing. Half-turning away, Dean spotted the haunted house across the park. “Let’s go check it out,” he said, motioning with one arm. He started towards the house, not stopping to check that Cas was even following. He wouldn’t admit, outside of his own head anyway, to the flash of relief that shuddered through his chest when he caught the familiar tan of Cas’ trench coat at the corner of his eye. 

Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all, after the first few rooms, Dean figured the haunted house was probably not his best idea of the day. The ghosts were fine. The masked jerk with the damn glow-in-the-dark chainsaw didn’t even get a flinch. But then they walked into the next room and Dean cursed as he hit a glass wall, stumbling back and throwing his hand up to check his nose for blood. He didn’t notice Castiel’s hand at his shoulder until he moved it but Dean felt the loss of that light pressure more than the aching of his nose. “Are you all right?” Castiel asked and Dean only barely heard it above the noise that rumbled through the haunted house. 

“Fine,” he called back, and pressed his hand flat to the glass. “Let’s get out of here.” Using his hand to find the open hall between the glass walls, Dean started working his way through the maze. After a minute or so, he heard the insistent knocking and frowned, looking for the source of the noise that seemed out of place with the eerie background music and faraway screams. Cas wasn’t behind him anymore, and Dean swung around in a quick circle until he spotted the other man a few feet back and on the other side of a slightly scuffed glass panel, one hand at his side, one knocking steady beats on the glass and his head tipped to the left as if he couldn’t quite figure out how he’d managed to find himself there. “Stay there,” Dean called, motioning with his hand and Cas nodded. Dean fought a smile for half a second before he grinned at the other man, letting his hand trail along the wall until he found his way to Cas. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Castiel asked and Dean knew he didn’t imagine the pout in the question. 

“Yes,” he admitted and laughed again. Cas frowned at him, but Dean ignored it, pulling his arm by the sleeve until the other man caught the hint and held on to Dean’s jacket. “Don’t let go,” he warned the librarian, and Cas nodded, still with that frown that Dean somehow felt was more sulk than anger. He trailed his fingers along the glass, still shaking his head at the mental image of Cas’ confusion, as he led the way through the maze. After several minutes though, Dean had to accept that his trick wasn’t working as well now as it had before when he ran into his fourth dead end. 

“Are you lost?” Cas asked, punctuating the question with a tug on Dean’s jacket. If he didn’t know any better, Dean would swear that Cas was being smug.

“I’m not lost,” he protested, smacking his hand against the three glass panels hard enough that the action immediately confirmed he was lying. Cas dipped his head and when Dean looked back, he saw the other man was hiding a smile behind his free hand. “Shut up,” he said, but he grinned to let Cas know he wasn’t really annoyed. He shifted past the other man, trying to keep a comfortable distance between them even in the tight space, and started again to find a way out of the room. 

Left instead of right, three halls straight then two rights and they finally found the door to the next room. “Do you think we are almost out?” Cas asked, his voice suddenly near Dean’s ear as he leaned up to be heard. 

Dean shrugged, hoping that Cas didn’t notice the red on the tips of his ears. “No clue. I haven’t been in one of these since grade school.” He pushed open the door and stepped into the next room. As soon as the door shut behind them, maniacal laughter echoed through the semi-dark. “Not done yet,” Dean called over his shoulder to Cas and felt a sharp tug on his sleeve in response. 

“Then, why now?” Dean almost didn’t hear the question as he led the way through the room. He shrugged carelessly, or he hoped that was how it came off, because he wasn’t going to admit to anyone that he’d been desperate for some kind of distraction, something to keep Castiel’s intense gaze from seeing too deep. 

They rounded a corner, making their way to the flashing red sign that claimed an exit somewhere nearby, when a wall slid open and a cackling clown jumped into the middle of the path, butcher knife in one hand and squirting what Dean seriously prayed was water from a plastic flower on his chest. That crazy laughter echoed around them again and the clown grinned at them darkly enough that Dean had flashbacks of watching the movie “IT” as a kid. In his head, he knew that the clown wasn’t actually out to kill them and steal their souls, but the rest of him wasn’t as reasonable. He startled back with a yelp he would definitely deny later, and swore, “Fuck.”

A clown? Really, a fucking clown?! His palms were sweaty and he pressed back against the wall, eyes wide as he tried to inch his way as far back as possible. Then he ran into Castiel, still standing firm behind him and apparently not the slightest concerned about the murderous bastard two feet away. So much for looking cool. “He’s not real,” Cas reminded him, tugging softly on Dean’s sleeve still in his hand. 

“I know that,” Dean snapped, swiping the sleeve of his free arm across his forehead. But he still couldn’t move past it, and the stupid clown must have realized it. He stalked forward, waving that obviously fake knife and fucking cackling. 

Then Dean felt Cas’ hand slip behind him, pressing firmly into the middle of his back and pushing him forward. “It’s not real,” Cas reminded him again, and kept pushing against Dean until he moved, taking faltering steps that kept him close to the wall as they edged around the creeper. There was a set distance, Dean knew, that all the characters in the haunted house had to stay from the people who toured through, but that didn’t make a damn bit of difference to his instincts, which screamed danger at him even as the guy slowly circled from them and backed down the hall. Dean shoved open the next door, no longer needing Cas’ encouragement to move forward. 

“Come the fuck on!” he cried, throwing his free hand up in disgust at the flashing lights and phony skeletons that meant they weren’t through the haunted house yet. “How big is this thing anyway?” he snarled, more pissed than before that he’d chosen to drag Cas in here. But Castiel didn’t seem annoyed at all, instead looked to be hiding a smile behind his hand and when Dean caught his eye, he let out a sound that seemed suspiciously like a chuckle. “Are you…” Dean was almost speechless at the sight of his straight-faced librarian turning slowly red as he tried to hold back his amusement, and he felt his anger melt away as he continued, “are you laughing at me?”

“No!” Cas protested, but that low chuckle escaped again, the sound running down Dean’s spine like a waterfall and making it difficult to maintain his firm expression when all he really wanted was to grab this man in his arms and never let go. Because as often as he’d found himself fantasizing about a moment like this, Dean hadn’t believed his luck was good enough to let it happen so soon, and the reality was so much better than any dream he’d had, no matter how vivid. Something in his face must have screamed doubt because Castiel laughed out a “Yes.” He shook his head and his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, a deeper blue now that Dean would always associate with happiness. “But, a clown, Dean?” He laughed again, and as much as Dean loved the sound of it he really wished it wasn’t at his expense. “How can you be scared of a clown?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, not caring how defensive he looked for the moment. “Hey, don’t laugh! Maybe I had a childhood trauma that left me terrified of clowns.”

Cas’ smile disappeared in an instant, and Dean was immediately sorry that he’d said anything to make it vanish so completely. “Did you?” Cas asked, his voice soft and serious, his eyes searching Dean’s face as though he could pull every secret and make it all better somehow.

Dean let his gaze wander to the left and his arms fall to his sides. “Well, no,” he admitted, and was rewarded when Cas smiled again.

“So this is an irrational fear?” And just like that, all the humor was back in Cas’ voice. Dean opened his mouth to protest, because really how irrational was it to be afraid of those painted-up bastards, but was interrupted when the door behind them was pushed open, a group of screaming, laughing preteens running through, stumbling over their sneakers as they ran. He reacted in an instant, grabbing Cas’ waist, pushing him against the wall and trying to take as little room as possible in the narrow hall. The kids didn’t even seem to notice them as they dashed past the couple, one of them even bumping into Dean hard enough that he could already feel the bruise forming on his back. He was glad for the instincts that told him a stampeding group of brats was not something they should stand in the way of and as the kids disappeared down the hall, he let out a sigh, turning so that he was leaning against the wall with Cas in the circle of his arms. Neither of them seemed in much of a hurry to get away, which Dean expected of himself. Cas was a surprise though, as usual. 

Cas was close, too close, and Dean felt his body react despite the situation: haunted house, stupid screaming skeletons, laughing kids, and all. He tipped his head back against the wall, staring blankly at the dark ceiling. “Are you alright?” Cas asked, checking behind them and throwing a suspicious look at the door, as if it might bust open again at any second and surround them by another group of teenagers, running scared from the clown in the last room. Like all smart people should.

Dean shook his head and laughed dryly. He moved his hands up from Castiel’s back to his shoulders and to either side of his neck, letting his fingers play in the soft hair at the nape. “I… like this,” he breathed out, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see that stare. He couldn’t say this if he saw those blue eyes on him. “I want more of this, and … other things. But I don’t want to scare you away again.” Dean let out a shaky breath, opened his eyes and set Cas a step back before he let his hands fall to his sides, determined not to give in to his instincts. It helped to remember the look on Cas’ face when he tried to kiss the librarian just two days ago. He knew when to press his luck and when to wait for a better hand, and this was a wait kind of moment. 

At first, Castiel didn’t move, his eyes downward, then he stepped forward and closed the distance between them again. “I am not afraid,” he said softly, flattening his palms on Dean’s chest. Dean’s breath caught in his throat. It didn’t stop the too fast beating of his heart, and he was sure Castiel could feel it under his hand. “I am concerned what this,” he slowly nodded towards Dean, “means for my soul, and yours. I am confused about…” he took a ragged breath before continuing, “what this will mean for everything I have been taught to believe.” Castiel’s hands clenched and unclenched on his chest and though the other man was looking right at them, Dean wondered if he actually saw what he was doing. “I am unsure that this will last, for one or both of us.” Then he stilled, his hands flat on Dean’s chest again, firm pressure radiating warmth, and his eyes met Dean’s, clear and resolved. He could see the intensity of the truth Cas shared, “But, I am not afraid.”

Dean was terrified. He’d never admit it out loud, never let it show on his face or in his actions. So he just smiled a little, letting his forehead rest on Cas’ and covering the hands still on his chest with his own. “I want you to be able to figure all that out,” he told the man, “and I don’t want anyone to say I forced you into anything.” They stayed still for a moment, until an echo of a scream came to them through the door leading back to the clown. Dean cocked his head to the side, listening with a smile. “We should hurry up and get out of here before they send a search party.”

Cas nodded, a quiet smile curling his lips as he stepped back, his hand slipping to latch again onto Dean’s sleeve, as if still concerned that the other man might leave him behind. Dean figured it was way too early in this …was it really a relationship?... to tell Cas what he already knew, that he couldn’t leave him behind. The something, whatever it was, that drew Dean to Cas and made him fall in love with someone who was essentially a stranger to him wouldn’t allow it. So he didn’t say it, instead just led the way out of the haunted house until they were at last free, blinking at each other in the too bright light of the afternoon sun. When Dean smiled, Cas smiled back. And, for now, that was enough.


	35. The Inner Workings of Castiel

I am not afraid.

It was the truest statement Castiel felt he had ever made. If Dean kissed him again, Castiel had already resolved that he would not fight against it, or run away, because as embarrassing and confusing as it was, the feeling of Dean against him was undeniably pleasurable and somehow right. He could hear Michael’s voice in his head, preaching about forbidden fruit and the path to Hell, and next to it Balthazar’s lazy drawl, urging him to investigate that something special he felt in Dean. And he was torn between the two, because one did not simply overcome a lifetime of belief in a few short weeks. 

But Dean hadn’t kissed him. He’d whispered, eyes closed as if overwhelmed by his own depth of feeling as much as Castiel found himself to be, that he wanted more, the sweet words a secret confession of fear. And Castiel allowed himself to touch him, to hold his hands over Dean’s heart and feel for himself the rapid flutter that gave away, perhaps more than the vulnerable look on his face, that Dean was afraid, despite having been the one who pushed the issue. He wouldn’t mention it though, and instead tried to reassure Dean of his own commitment to exploring what it was that trembled between them, a fledgling feeling strong enough to wash over and drown them both and yet still so weak that the wrong action could rip it from beneath them, leaving tatters of what might have been. 

Dean had perhaps sensed more than he said though, like Castiel, because he’d only smiled and set him back, despite the obvious desire to touch as much as he could. Castiel noted more than just the motion though and admired in his companion the sensitivity that allowed Castiel to sort out his feelings more thoroughly, the sincerity that pushed for an honest and voluntary answer, the patience to wait for that answer, and the restraint that held him back from simply taking what he wanted. So Castiel smiled at the acknowledgement that it was not only his looks or body that Dean was after, but whatever it was that the other man felt went beyond physical. 

I am not afraid.

It was the closest thing to a lie that Castiel had ever spoken. For all his prayers, for all the advice that Balthazar offered and the constant preaching of the Michael in his head, the feelings that fluttered in his chest terrified Castiel almost to the point of paralyzing him with fear. In front of him, beneath his hands, Dean was warm and real, a soul so bright he hurt to look at. But behind him, his family and his faith, screaming that he should know better, because he was raised in the fold, was raised to be better, no matter where he found himself now. And he was torn between the two, because one did not simply overcome a lifetime of belief in a few short weeks.

Can you believe them? A woman’s voice, scorning.

How dare they? Shaking with anger.

How did they not burst into flames crossing the threshold? Male, younger and only half-joking.

The words stuck with him, as clear now as if he had flown back twenty years to that church pew, Gabriel again on his left, Michael again on his right and ahead of him that couple that he was not allowed to admire for their faith but must instead condemn for their sin. 

It might as well be him. 

He held onto Dean’s sleeve, like he had when Dean tried to lead them out of the maze, and trusted that Dean might do the same now. When he pushed the door open and they were welcomed by the sun’s light, Castiel felt he could breathe easier. He remembered, he was not ten years old and in that church. He was grown now, and it was not his place to judge others, nor was it the place of others to judge him.

One did not simply overcome a lifetime of belief in a few short weeks. 

He might judge himself, in days to come, but that was later. Now, Dean smiled at him. So he smiled back. That was simple enough.


End file.
